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Embracing 
ROMANCE.  TRAVEL.COMEDY  SfVERSE . 

For  the  first  time  Complete  in 

Englisli. 
With  a  Critical  Preface  by 

PAUL  BOURGET 
of  the  French  Academy 
and  an  Introduction  by 

Robert  Amot.M.A. 


ILLUSTRATED  FROM  ORIGINAL  DRAWINGS 

BY  EMINENT 

FRENCH  AND  AMERICAN  ARTISTS 


m 


THE  ST.DUnSTAK  SOCIFTY. 
Akron.  Ohio. 


'^ 


/ 


"/f^./.f^riyAimA^y-y.  H.''(1W/^ri^,,7/»f. 


AFTER   THE   ORIGINAL    DRAWING    BY  JHANNIOT 


M.  u ill) HIS  Hred  uitfiout  seeing  -what  he  wa^  doing/' 


SHORT    STORIES 

OF  THE  TRAGEDY  AND 
COMEDY  OF  LIFE 


By 

GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


VOL.  V. 


SAINT     DUNSTAN     SOCIETY 
Akron,   Ohio 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
M.  WALTER  DUNNE 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall.  London 


^  .     /A 


. .  V  JK 


I 

2 

3 

4 

5 
6 

7 
8 

9 
lo 

1 1 

12 

'3 
14 

'5 
i6 

17 
i8 

19 

20 


f6? 

i3 


''I 


A^E 


17 

TABLE    OF   CONTENTS* 


PAGB 

A   DUEL I 

THE   LOVE    OF   LONG   AGO 9 

THE    farmer's    wife 1 5 

BESIDE    A    DEAD    MAN 25 

A    QUEER    NIGHT    IN    PARIS 3 1 

THE    PEDDLER 45 

THE    UMBRELLA 56 

THE    QUESTION    OF    LATIN 68 

MOTHER   AND   SON 8 1 

HE? 89 

A   tailor's    DAUGHTER 99 

THE    AVENGER          II 7 

THE    CONSERVATORY 1 25 

LETTER    FOUND    ON    A   CORPSE 1 33 

THE    LITTLE   CASK I4I 

POOR    ANDREW 1 50 

A    FISHING    EXCURSION 1 58 

A   WARNING   NOTE 1 65 

AFTER 175 

THE    SPASM 183 


*  At  the  close  of  the  last  Volume  will  be  found  a  complete  list  of 
the  French  Titles  of  De  Maupassant's  writings,  with  theii  English 
equivalents. 

(ix) 


X  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PACB 

21.  A   MEETING I92 

22.  A   NEW   year's   GIFT 204 

23.  MY   UNCLE   SOSTHENES 2I3 

24.  ALL   OVER 223 

25.  MY    LANDLADY 232 

2().  THE   HORRIBLE 239 

27.  THE   FIRST   SNOWFALL 248 

28.  BOITELLE 260 

29.  THE    ACCURSED    BREAD 273 

30.  MY   TWENTY-FIVE   DAYS 280 

31.  A    LUCKY    BURGLAR 29I 

J2.  AN    ODD    FEAST 296 

■>,}.  SYMPATHY 302 

34.  JULOT'S  OPINION 307 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


M.     DUBUIS    FIRED    WITHOUT    SEEING    WHAT    HE    WAS 

doing" Frontispiece 


A    DUEL 


^HE  war  was  over.      The  Germans 
occupied    France.     The    country 
was  panting  like  a  wrestler  lying 
under  the  knee  of  his  successful  op- 
ponent. 

The  first  trains  from  Paris,  after  the 
city's  long  agony  of  famine  and  despair, 
were  making  their  way  to  the  new  fron- 
tiers, slowly  passing  through  the  country 
districts  and  the  villages.  The  passengers 
gazed  through  the  windows  at  the  ravaged 
fields  and  burned  hamlets.  Prussian  soldiers, 
in  their  black  helmets  with  brass  spikes,  were 
smoking  their  pipes  on  horseback  or  sitting  on 
chairs  in  front  of  the  houses  which  were  still  left 
standing.  Others  were  working  or  talking  just  as  if 
they  were  members  of  the  families.  As  you  passed 
through  the  different  towns,  you  saw  entire  regiments 
drilling  in  the  squares,  and,  in  spite  of  the  rumble  of 
the  carriage-wheels,  you  could,  every  moment,  hear 
the  hoarse  words  of  command. 

M.  Dubuis,  who  during  the  entire  siege  had  served 
as  one  of  the  National   Guard   in  Paris,  was  going  to 

«    G.  de  M,— I  (  I  ) 


2  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

join  his  wife  and  daughter,  whom  he  had  prudently 
sent  away  to  Switzerland  before  the  invasion. 

Famine  and  hardship  had  not  diminished  the  big 
paunch  so  characteristic  of  the  rich,  peace-loving 
merchant.  He  had  gone  through  the  terrible  events 
of  the  past  year  with  sorrowful  resignation  and  bitter 
complaints  at  the  savagery  of  men.  Now  that  he 
was  journeying  to  the  frontier  at  the  close  of  the 
war,  he  saw  the  Prussians  for  the  first  time,  although 
he  had  done  his  duty  at  the  ramparts,  and  staunchly 
mounted  guard  on  cold  nights. 

He  stared  with  mingled  fear  and  anger  at  those 
bearded  armed  men  installed  all  over  French  soil  as  if 
in  their  own  homes,  and  he  felt  in  his  soul  a  kind  of 
fever  of  impotent  patriotism  even  while  he  yielded  to 
that  other  instinct  of  discretion  and  self-preservation 
which  never  leaves  us.  In  the  same  compartment, 
two  Englishmen,  who  had  come  to  the  country  as 
sight-seers,  were  gazing  around  with  looks  of  stolid 
curiosity.  They  were  both  stout  also,  and  kept  chat- 
ting in  their  own  language,  sometimes  referring  to 
their  guidebook,  and  reading  in  loud  tones  the  names 
of  the  places  indicated. 

Suddenly,  the  train  stopped  at  a  little  village  sta- 
tion, and  a  Prussian  officer  jumped  up  with  a  great 
clatter  of  his  saber  on  the  double  footboard  of  the 
railway-carriage.  He  was  tall,  wore  a  tight-fitting 
uniform,  and  his  face  had  a  very  shaggy  aspect.  His 
red  hair  seemed  to  be  on  fire  and  his  long  mustache 
and  beard,  of  a  paler  color,  was  stuck  out  on  both 
sides  of  his  face,  which  it  seemed  to  cut  in  two. 

The  Englishmen  at  once  began  staring  at  him 
with    smiles    of   newly-awakened    interest,    while    M. 


A   DUEL  5 

Dubuis  made  a  show  of  reading  a  newspaper.  He 
sat  crouched  in  a  corner,  like  a  thief  in  the  presence 
of  a  gendarme. 

The  train  started  again.  The  Englishmen  went 
on  chatting,  and  looking  out  for  the  exact  scene  of 
different  battles;  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  as  one 
of  them  stretched  out  his  arm  toward  the  horizon 
to  indicate  a  village,  the  Prussian  officer  remarked 
in  French,  extending  his  long  legs  and  lolling  back- 
ward: 

"We  killed  a  dozen  Frenchmen  in  that  village, 
and  took  more  than  a  hundred  prisoners." 

The  Englishmen,  quite  interested,  immediately 
asked: 

"Ha!  and  what  is  the  name  of  this  village?" 

The  Prussian  replied: 

"  Pharsbourg." 

He  added:  "We  caught  these  French  blackguards 
by  the  ears." 

And  he  glanced  toward  M.  Dubuis,  laughing  into 
his  mustache  in  an  insulting  fashion. 

The  train  rolled  on,  always  passing  through  ham- 
lets occupied  by  the  victorious  army.  German  soldiers 
could  be  seen  along  the  roads,  on  the  edges  of  fields, 
standing  in  front  of  gates,  or  chatting  outside  cafes. 
They  covered  the  soil  like  African  locusts. 

The  officer  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand: 

"If  I  were  in  command,  I'd  take  Paris,  burn 
everything,  and  kill  everybody.     No  more  France!" 

The  Englishmen,  through  politeness,  replied 
simply: 

"Ah!  yes." 

He   went   on: 


4  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

"In  twenty  years,  all  Europe,  all  of  it,  will  belong 
to  us.     Prussia  is  more  than  a  match  for  all  of  them." 

The  Englishmen,  getting  uneasy,  said  nothing  in 
answer  to  this.  Their  faces,  which  had  become  im- 
passive, seemed  made  of  wax  behind  their  long 
whiskers.  Then  the  Prussian  officer  began  to  laugh. 
And  then,  lolling  back,  he  began  to  sneer.  He  sneered 
at  the  downfall  of  France,  insulted  the  prostrate 
enemy;  he  sneered  at  Austria  which  had  been  recently 
conquered;  he  sneered  at  the  furious  but  fruitless  de- 
fense of  the  departments;  he  sneered  at  the  Garde 
Mobile  and  at  the  useless  artillery.  He  announced 
that  Bismarck  was  going  to  build  a  city  of  iron  with 
the  captured  cannons.  And  suddenly  he  pushed  his 
boots  against  the  thigh  of  M.  Dubuis,  who  turned  his 
eyes  away,  reddening  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

The  Englishmen  seemed  to  have  assumed  an  air 
of  complete  indifference,  as  if  they  had  found  them- 
selves all  at  once  shut  up  in  their  own  island,  far 
from  the  din  of  the  world. 

The  officer  took  out  his  pipe,  and,  looking  fixedly 
at  the  Frenchman,  said: 

"You  haven't  got  any  tobacco  —  have  you.?" 

M.  Dubuis  replied: 

"No,  Monsieur." 

The  German  said: 

"You  might  go  and  buy  some  for  me  when  the 
train  stops  next." 

And  he  began  laughing  afresh,  as  he  added: 

"I'll  let  you  have  the  price  of  a  drink." 

The  train  whistled  and  slackened  its  pace.  They 
had  reached  a  station  which  had  been  burned  down 
and  here  there  was  a  regular  stop. 


A    DUEL  5 

The  German  opened  the  carriage  door,  and,  catch- 
ing M.  Dubuis  by  the  arm,  said: 

"Go,  and  do  what  I  told  you  —  quick,  quick!" 
A  Prussian  detachment  occupied  the  station.  Other 
soldiers  were  looking  on  from  behind  wooden  grat- 
ings. The  engine  was  already  getting  up  steam  in 
order  to  start  off  again.  Then  M.  Dubuis  hurriedly 
jumped  on  the  platform,  and,  in  spite  of  the  warn- 
ings of  the  station-master,  dashed  into  the  adjoining 
compartment. 

«  :):  :fc  «  4c  «  « 

He  was  alone!  He  tore  open  his  waistcoat,  so 
rapidly  did  his  heart  beat,  and,  panting  for  breath,  he 
wiped  the  perspiration  off   his  forehead. 

The  train  drew  up  at  another  station.  And  sud- 
denly the  officer  appeared  at  the  carriage  door,  and 
jumped  in,  followed  close  behind  by  the  two  English- 
men, who  were  impelled  by  curiosity.  The  German 
sat  facing  the  Frenchman,  and,  laughing  still,  said: 

"You  did  not  want  to  do  what  I  asked  you." 

M.  Dubuis  replied:     "No,  Monsieur." 

The  train  had  just  left  the  station,  Vv'hen  the  officer 
said: 

"I'll  cut  off  your  mustache  to  fill  my  pipe  with." 
And  he  put  out  his  hand  toward  the  Frenchman's  face. 

The  Englishmen  kept  staring  in  the  same  impas- 
sive fashion  with  fixed  glances.  Already  the  German 
had  caught  hold  of  the  mustache  and  was  tugging  at 
it,  when  M.  Dubuis,  with  a  back-stroke  of  his  hand 
threw  back  the  officer's  arm,  and,  seizing  him  by  the 
collar,  flung  him  down  on  the  seat.  Then,  excited 
to  a  pitch  of  fury,  with  his  temples  swollen  and  his 
eyes  glaring,   he  kept   throttling    the    officer  with  one 


6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DH   MAUPASSA'N''r 

hand  while  with  the  other  clenched,  he  began  to 
strike  him  violent  blows  in  the  face.  The  Prussian 
struggled,  tried  to  draw  his  saber,  and  to  get  a  grip, 
while  lying  back,  of  his  adversary.  But  M.  Dubuis 
crushed  him  with  the  enormous  weight  of  his 
stomach,  and  kept  hitting  him  without  taking  breath 
or  knowing  where  his  blows  fell.  Blood  flowed 
down  the  face  of  the  German,  who,  choking  and 
with  a  rattling  in  his  throat,  spat  forth  his  broken 
teeth,  and  vainly  strove  to  shake  off  this  infuriated 
man  who  was  killing  him. 

The  Englishmen  had  got  on  their  feet  and  came 
closer  in  order  to  see  better.  They  remained  stand- 
ing, full  of  mirth  and  curiosity,  ready  to  bet  for  or 
against  each  of  the  combatants. 

And  suddenly  M.  Dubuis,  exhausted  by  his  violent 
efforts,  went  and  resumed  his  seat  without  uttering  a 
word. 

The  Prussian  did  not  attack  him,  for  the  savage 
assault  had  scared  and  terrified  the  officer.  When  he 
was  able  to  breathe  freely,  he  said: 

"Unless  you  give  me  satisfaction  with  pistols,  I 
will  kill  you." 

M.  Dubuis  replied: 

"Whenever  you  like.     I'm  quite  ready." 

The  German  said: 

"  Here  is  the  town  of  Strasbourg.  I'll  get  two  offi- 
cers to  be  my  seconds,  and  there  will  be  time  before 
the  train  leaves  the  station." 

M.  Dubuis,  who  was  puffing  as  much  as  the  en- 
gine, said  to  the  Englishmen: 

"Will  you  be  my  seconds.?"  They  both  answered 
together: 


A   DUEL  7 

"Oh!  yes." 

And  the  train  stopped. 

In  a  minute,  the  Prussian  had  found  two  com- 
rades who  carried  pistols,  and  they  made  their  way 
toward  the  ramparts. 

The  Enghshmen  were  continually  looking  at  their 
watches,  shuffling  their  feet,  and  hurrying  on  with  the 
preparations,  uneasy  lest  they  should  be  too  late  for 
the  train. 

M.  Dubuis  had  never  fired  a  pistol  in  his  life. 
They  made  him  stand  twenty  paces  away  from  his 
enemy.     He  was  asked: 

"Are  you  ready.?" 

While  he  was  answering  "Yes,  Monsieur,"  he 
noticed  that  one  of  the  Englishmen  had  opened  his 
umbrella  in  order  to  keep  off  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

A  voice  gave  the  word  of  command. 

"Fire!" 

M.  Dubuis  fired  at  random  without  minding  what 
he  was  doing,  and  he  was  amazed  to  see  the  Prus- 
sian staggering  in  front  of  him,  lifting  up  his  arms, 
and  immediately  afterward,  falling  straight  on  his  face. 
He  had  killed  the  officer. 

One  of  the  Englishmen  ejaculated  "  Ah! "  quiver- 
ing with  delight,  satisfied  curiosity,  and  joyous  im- 
patience. The  other  who  still  kept  his  watch  in  his 
hand,  seized  ?vl.  Dubuis's  arm,  and  hurried  him  in 
double-quick  time  toward  the  station,  his  fellow- 
countryman  counting  their  steps,  with  his  arms 
pressed  close  to  his  sides:     "One!  two!  one!   two!" 

And  all  three  marching  abreast  they  rapidly  made 
their  way  to  the  station  like  three  grotesque  figures 
in  a  comic  newspaper. 


8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  train  was  on  the  point  of  starting.  They 
sprang  into  their  carriage.  Then  the  EngHshmen, 
taking  off  their  travehng-caps,  waved  them  three 
times  over  their  heads,  exclaiming: 

"Hip!  hip!  hip!  hurrah  !" 

Then  gravely,  one  after  the  other,  they  stretched 
out  their  right  hands  to  M.  Dubuis,  and  then  went 
back  and  sat  in  their  own  corner. 


THE    LOVE    OF    LONG    AGO 


HE  old-fashioned  chateau  was  built 
on  a  wooded  height.     Tall  trees 
surrounded   it  with  dark   green- 
ery; and  the  vast  park  extended  its 
vistas    here    over  a  deep    forest    and 
there  over  an  open  plain.     Some  little 
Jr*     distance  from   the  front  of  the   mansion 
"^^ '  stood  a  huge  stone  basin  in  which  marble 
nymphs   were   bathing.     Other    basins   ar- 
ranged in  order  succeeded  each  other  down 
as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  slope,  and  a  hidden 
fountain    sent   cascades    dancing   from    one    to 
the  other. 

From  the  manor-house,  which  preserved  the 
grace  of  a  superannuated  coquette,  down  to  the  grottos 
incrusted  with  shellwork,  where  slumbered  the  loves 
of  a  bygone  age,  everything  in  this  antique  demesne 
had  retained  the  physiognomy  of  former  days.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  speak  still  of  ancient  customs,  of  the 
manners  of  long  ago,  of  faded  gallantries,  and  of  the 
elegant  trivialities  so  dear  to  our  grandmothers. 

In    a  parlor   in   the   style   of  Louis    XV.,  the    walls 
of    which    were    covered    with    shepherds    courting 

(9) 


JO  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

shepherdesses,  beautiful  ladies  in  hoop  petticoats,  and 
gallant  gentlemen  in  wigs,  a  very  old  woman,  who 
seemed  dead  as  soon  as  she  ceased  to  move,  was  al- 
most lying  down  in  a  large  easy-chair  while  her  thin, 
mummy-like  hands  hung  down,  one  at  each  side  of 
her. 

Her  eyes  were  gazing  languidly  toward  the  distant 
horizon  as  if  they  sought  to  follow  through  the  park 
visions  of  her  youth.  Through  the  open  window 
every  now  and  then  came  a  breath  of  air  laden  with 
the  scent  of  grass  and  the  perfume  of  flowers.  It 
made  her  white  locks  flutter  around  her  wrinkled 
forehead  and  old  memories  sweep  through  her  brain. 

Beside  her  on  a  tapestried  stool,  a  young  girl,  with 
long,  fair  hair  hanging  in  plaits  over  her  neck,  was 
embroidering  an  altar-cloth.  There  was  a  pensive 
expression  in  her  eyes,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that, 
while  her  agile  fingers  worked,  her  brain  was  busy 
with  thoughts. 

But  the  old  lady  suddenly  turned   round  her  head. 

"Berthe,"  she  said,  "read  something  out  of  the 
newspapers  for  me,  so  that  I  may  still  know  some- 
times what  is  happening  in  the  world." 

The  young  girl  took  up  a  newspaper,  and  cast  a 
rapid  glance  over  it. 

"There  is  a  great  deal  about  politics,  grand- 
mamma; am  I  to  pass  it  by?" 

"Yes,  yes,  darling.  Are  there  no  accounts  of 
love  affairs  ?  Is  gallantry,  then,  dead  in  France  that 
they  no  longer  talk  about  abductions  or  adventures  as 
they  did  formerly?" 

The  girl  made  a  long  search  through  the  columns 
of  the  newspaper. 


YHE   LOVE   OF   LONG   AGb  1 1 

•'Here  is  one,"  she  said.  "It  fs  'entitled,  'A 
Love-Drama. ' " 

Tile  old  woman  smiled  through  her  wrinl<:les. 
"Read  that  for  me,"  she  said. 

And  Berthe  commenced.  It  was  a  case  of  vitriol- 
throwing.  A  wife,  in  order  to  avenge  herself  on  her 
husband's  mistress,  had  burned  her  face  and  eyes. 
She  had  left  the  Assize-Court  acquitted,  declared  to 
be  innocent,  amid  the  applause  of  the  crowd. 

The  grandmother  moved  about  excitedly  in  her 
chair,  and  exclaimed: 

"This  is  horrible  —  why,  it  is  perfectly  horrible! 
See  whether  you  can  find  anything  else  to  read  for 
me,   darling." 

Berthe  again  made  a  search;  and  further  down  in 
the  reports  of  criminal  cases  at  which  her  attention 
was  still  directed.     She  read: 

"'Gloomy  Drama.  —  A  shopgirl,  no  longer  young,  allowed  herself 
to  yield  to  the  embraces  of  a  young  man.  Then,  to  avenge  herself  on 
her  lover,  whose  heart  proved  fickle,  she  shot  him  with  a  revolver. 
The  unhappy  man  is  maimed  for  life.  The  jury  consisted  of  men  of 
moral  character,  and  took  the  part  of  the  murderess  —  regarding  her  as 
the  victim  of  illicit  love.     They  honorably  acquitted  her.'" 

This  time,  the  old  grandmother  appeared  quite 
shocked,  and,  in  a  trembling  voice,  said: 

"Why,  you  are  mad,  then,  nowadays.  You  are 
mad!  The  good  God  has  given  you  love,  the  only 
allurement  in  life.  Man  has  added  to  this  gallantry, 
the  only  distraction  of  our  dull  hours,  and  here  are 
you  mixing  up  with  it  vitriol  and  revolvers,  as  if  one 
were  to  put  mud  into  a  flagon  of  Spanish  wine." 

Berthe  did  not  seem  to  understand  her  grand- 
mother's indignation. 


12  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

"But,  grandmamma,  this  woman  avenged  herself. 
Remember,  she  was  married,  and  her  husband  de- 
ceived her." 

The  grandmother  gave  a  start. 

"What  ideas  have  they  been  putting  into  the  heads 
of  you  young  girls  of  to-day?" 

Berthe  replied: 

"But  marriage  is  sacred,  grandmamma." 

The  grandmother's  heart,  which  had  its  birth  in 
the  great  age  of  gallantry,  gave  a  sudden  leap. 

"It  is  love  that  is  sacred,"  she  said.  "Listen, 
child,  to  an  old  woman  who  has  seen  three  genera- 
tions and  who  has  had  a  long,  long  experience  of 
men  and  women.  Marriage  and  love  have  nothing 
in  common.  We  marry  to  found  a  family,  and  we 
form  families  in  order  to  constitute  society.  Society 
cannot  dispense  with  marriage.  If  society  is  a  chain, 
each  family  is  a  link  in  that  chain.  In  order  to  weld 
those  links,  we  always  seek  for  metals  of  the  same 
kind.  When  we  marry,  we  must  bring  together  suit- 
able conditions;  we  must  combine  fortunes,  unite 
similar  races,  and  aim  at  the  common  interests,  which 
are  riches  and  children.  We  marry  only  once,  my  child, 
because  the  world  requires  us'  to  do  so,  but  we  may 
love  twenty  times  in  one  lifetime  because  nature  has 
made  us  able  to  do  this.  Marriage,  you  see,  is  law, 
and  love  is  an  instinct,  which  impels  us  sometimes 
along  a  straight  and  sometimes  along  a  crooked  path. 
The  world  has  made  laws  to  combat  our  instincts  — 
it  was  necessary  to  make  them;  but  our  instincts  are 
always  stronger,  and  we  ought  not  to  resist  them  too 
much,  because  they  come  from  God,  while  the  laws 
only  come    from    men.     If  we    did    not    perfume    life 


THE    LOVE   OF    LONG   AGO 


13 


with  love,  as  much  love  as  possible,  darling,  as  we 
put  sugar  into  drugs  for  children,  nobody  would  care 
to  take  it  just  as  it  is." 

Berthe  opened  her  eyes  widely  in  astonishment. 
She  murmured: 

"Oh!  grandmamma,  we  can  only  love  once." 

The  grandmother  raised  her  trembling  hands  toward 
Heaven,  as  if  again  to  invoke  the  defunct  god  of  gal- 
lantries.    She  exclaimed  indignantly: 

"You  have  become  a  race  of  serfs,  a  race  of  com- 
mon people.  Since  the  Revolution,  it  is  impossible 
any  longer  to  recognize  society.  You  have  attached 
big  words  to  every  action,  and  wearisome  duties  to 
every  corner  of  existence;  you  believe  in  equality  and 
eternal  passion.  People  have  written  verses  telling 
you  that  people  have  died  of  love.  In  my  time, 
verses  were  written  to  teach  men  to  love  every 
woman.  And  we!  —  when  we  liked  a  gentleman,  my 
child,  we  sent  him  a  page.  And  when  a  fresh  caprice 
came  into  our  hearts,  we  were  not  slow  in  getting 
rid  of  the  last  lover  —  unless  we  kept  both  of  them." 

The  old  woman  smiled  with  a  keen  smile,  and  a 
gleam  of  roguery  twinkled  in  her  gray  eye,  the 
sprightly,  sceptical  roguery  of  those  people  who  did 
not  believe  that  they  were  made  of  the  same  clay  as 
the  others,  and  who  lived  as  rulers  for  whom  com- 
mon restrictions  were  not  made. 

The  young  girl,  turning  very  pale,  faltered  out: 

"So,  then,  women  have  no  honor." 

The  grandmother  ceased  to  smile.  If  she  had  kept 
in  her  soul  some  of  Voltaire's  irony,  she  had  also  a 
little  of  Rousseau's  glowing  philosophy:  "No  honor! 
because    we   loved,  and    dared    to    say    so,  and    even 


14  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

boasted  of  it  ?  But,  my  child,  if  one  of  us,  among 
the  greatest  ladies  in  France,  were  to  live  without  a 
lover,  she  would  have  the  entire  court  laughing  at 
her.  Those  who  wished  to  live  differently  had  only 
to  enter  a  convent.  And  you  imagine  perhaps  that 
your  husbands  will  love  you  alone  all  their  lives.  As 
if,  indeed,  this  could  be  the  case.  I  tell  you  that 
marriage  is  a  thing  necessary  in  order  that  society 
should  exist,  but  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  our  race, 
do  you  understand?  There  is  only  one  good  thing 
in  life,  and  that  is  love.  And  hov/  you  misunder- 
stand it!  how  you  spoil  it!  You  treat  it  as  some- 
thing solemn,  like  a  sacrament,  or  something  to  be 
bought,  like  a  dress." 

The  young  girl  caught  the  old  woman's  trembling 
hands  in  her  own. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  1  beg  of  you,  grandmamma!" 

And,  on  her  knees,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she 
prayed  to  Heaven  to  bestow  on  her  a  great  passion, 
one  eternal  passion  alone,  in  accordance  with  the 
dream  of  modern  poets,  while  the  grandmother,  kiss- 
ing her  on  the  forehead,  still  penetrated  by  that 
charming,  healthy  logic  by  which  the  philosophers  of 
gallantry  sprinkled  salt  upon  the  life  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  murmured: 

"Take  care,  my  poor  darling!     If  you   believe   in 
such  follies  as  this,  you  will  be  very  unhappy." 


THE    FARMER'S    WIFE 


o 


NE  day  Baron    Rene  du  Treilles 
said  to  me: 
"Will   you  come  and   open 
the    hunting    season  with    me   in 
my  farmhouse  at    Marinville  ?     By 
doing  so,  my  dear  fellow,  you  will 
give  me  the  greatest  pleasure.     Be- 
sides,   I  am  all  alone.     This  will  be 
a  hard  hunting-bout,  to  start  with,  and 
le  house  where  1    sleep  is   so  primi- 
tive that  I  can  only  bring  my  most  inti- 
mate friends  there." 
K\(^-  I  accepted  his  invitation.     So  on  Satur- 

^^  day  we  started   by  the    railway-line   running 

into  Normandy,  and  alighted  at  the  station  of  Alvi- 
mare.  Baron  Rene,  pointing  out  to  me  a  country 
jaunting-car  drawn  by  a  restive  horse,  driven  by  a  big 
peasant  with  white  hair,  said  to  me: 

"Here  is  our  equipage,  my  dear  boy." 
The    man    extended    his   hand  to  his  landlord,  and 
the  Baron  pressed  it  warmly,  asking: 

"Well,   Maitre  Lebrument,  how  are  you?" 

(«5) 


iS  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Always  the  same,  M'sieu  1'  Baron." 

We  jumped  into  this  hencoop  suspended  and 
shaken  on  two  immense  wheels.  The  young  horse, 
after  a  violent  swerve,  started  into  a  gallop,  flinging 
us  into  the  air  like  balls.  Every  fall  backward  on  to 
the  wooden  bench  gave  me  the   most   dreadful    pain. 

The  peasant  kept  repeating  in  his  calm,  monoto- 
nous voice: 

"There,  there!  it's  all  right,  all  right,  Moutard,  all 
right!" 

But  Moutard  scarcely  heard  and  kept  scampering 
along  like  a  goat. 

Our  two  dogs,  behind  us,  in  the  empty  part  of 
the  hencoop,  stood  erect  and  sniffed  the  air  of  the 
plains  as  if  they  could  smell  the  game. 

The  Baron  gazed  into  the  distance,  with  a  sad  eye. 
The  vast  Norman  landscape,  undulating  and  melan- 
choly as  an  immense  English  park,  with  farmyards 
surrounded  by  two  or  four  rows  of  trees  and  full  of 
dwarfed  apple-trees  which  rendered  the  houses  invisi- 
ble, gave  a  vista,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  of  old 
forest-trees,  tufts  of  wood  and  hedgerows,  which 
artistic  gardeners  provide  for  when  they  are  tracing 
the  lines  of  princely  estates. 

And  Rene  de  Treilles  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"I  love  this  soil;    I  have  my  very  roots  in  it." 

A  pure  Norman,  tall  and  strong,  with  the  more  or 
less  projecting  paunch  of  the  old  race  of  adventurers 
who  went  to  found  kingdoms  on  the  shores  of  every 
ocean,  he  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  ten  years  less 
perhaps  than  the  farmer  who  was  driving  us.  The 
latter  was  a  lean  peasant,  all  skin  and  bone,  one  of 
those  men  who  live  a  hundred  years. 


THE   FARMER'S   WIFE 


17 


After  two  hours'  traveling  over  stony  roads,  across 
that  green  and  monotonous  plain,  the  vehicle  entered 
one  of  those  fruit-gardens  which  adorn  the  fronts  of 
farmhouses,  and  drew  up  before  an  old  structure  fall- 
ing into  decay,  where  an  old  maid-servant  stood 
waiting  at  the  side  of  a  young  fellow  who  seized  the 
horse's   bridle. 

We  entered  the  farmhouse.  The  smoky  kitchen 
was  high  and  spacious.  The  copper  utensils  and  the 
earthenware  glistened  under  the  reflection  of  the  big 
fire.  A  cat  lay  asleep  under  the  table.  Within,  you 
inhaled  the  odor  of  milk,  of  apples,  of  smoke,  that 
indescribable  smell  peculiar  to  old  houses  where  peas- 
ants have  lived  —  the  odor  of  the  soil,  of  the  walls,  of 
furniture,  of  stale  soup,  of  washing,  and  of  the  old 
inhabitants,  the  smell  of  animals  and  human  beings 
intermingled,  of  things  and  of  persons,  the  odor  of 
time  and  of  things  that  have  passed  away. 

I  went  out  to  have  a  look  at  the  farmyard.  It  was 
big,  full  of  old  apple-trees  dwarfed  and  crooked,  and 
laden  with  fruit  which  fell  on  the  grass  around  them. 
In  this  farmyard  the  smell  of  apples  was  as  strong  as 
that  of  the  orange-trees  which  blossom  on  the  banks 
of  southern   rivers. 

Four  rows  of  beeches  surrounded  this  inclosure. 
They  were  so  tall  that  they  seemed  to  touch  the 
clouds,  at  this  hour  of  nightfall,  and  their  summits, 
through  which  the  night  winds  passed,  shook  and 
sang  a  sad,  interminable  song. 

I  re-entered  the  house.  The  Baron  was  warming 
his  feet  at  the  fire,  and  was  listening  to  the  farmer's 
talk  about  country  matters.  He  talked  about  mar- 
riages,  births,  and  deaths,  then  about  the    fall    in    the 

J    G.  de  M. — a 


l8  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

price  of  corn  and  the  latest  news  about  the  selling 
value  of  cattle.  The  "Veularde"  (as  he  called  a  cow 
that  had  been  bought  at  the  fair  of  Veules)  had  calved 
in  the  middle  of  June.  The  cider  had  not  been  first- 
class  last  year.  The  apricot-apples  were  almost  dis- 
appearing from  the  country. 

Then  we  had  dinner.  It  was  a  good  rustic  meal, 
simple  and  abundant,  long  and  tranquil.  And  while 
we  were  dining,  1  noticed  the  special  kind  of  friendly 
familiarity  between  the  Baron  and  the  peasant  which 
had  struck  me  from  the  start. 

Without,  the  beeches  continued  sobbing  in  the 
nightwind,  and  our  two  dogs,  shut  up  in  a  shed, 
were  whining  and  howling  in  uncanny  fashion.  The 
fire  was  dying  out  in  the  big  grate.  The  maid- 
servant had  gone  to  bed.  Maitre  Lebrument  said  in 
his  turn: 

"If  you  don't  mind,  M'sieu  1'  Baron,  I'm  going 
to  bed.     I  am  not  used  to  staying  up  late." 

The  Baron  extended  his  hand  toward  him  and 
said:  "Go,  my  friend,"  in  so  cordial  a  tone  that  I 
said,  as  soon  as  the  man  had  disappeared: 

"He  is  devoted  to  you,  this  farmer?" 

"Better  than  that,  my  dear  fellow!  It  is  a  drama, 
an  old  drama,  simple  and  very  sad,  that  attaches  him 
to  me.     Here  is  the  story: 

"You  know  that  my  father  was  a  colonel  in  a 
cavalry  regiment.  His  orderly  was  this  young  fellow, 
now  an  old  man,  the  son  of  a  farmer.  Then,  when 
my  father  retired  from  the  army,  he  took  this  retired 
soldier,  then  about  forty,  as  his  servant.  I  was  at 
that  time  about  thirty.  We  lived  then  in  our  old 
chateau  of  Valrenne,  near  Caudebec-in-Caux. 


THE   FARMER'S   WIFE 


19 


"At  this  period,  my  mother's  chambermaid  was 
one  of  the  prettiest  girls  you  could  see,  fair-haired, 
slender,  and  sprightly  in  manner,  a  genuine  specimen 
of  the  fascinating  Abigail,  such  as  we  scarcely  ever 
find  nowadays.  To-day  these  creatures  spring  fsijp 
into  hussies  before  their  time.  Paris,  with  the  aid 
of  the  railways,  attracts  them,  calls  them,  takes  hold 
of  them,  as  soon  as  they  are  bursting  into  woman- 
hood—  these  little  wenches  who,  in  old  times,  re- 
mained simple  maid-servants.  Every  man  passing  by, 
as  long  ago  recruiting  sergeants  did  with  conscripts, 
entices  and  debauches  them — foolish  lassies  —  till  now 
we  have  only  the  scum  of  the  female  sex  for  servant- 
maids,  all  that  is  dull,  nasty,  common,  and  ill-formed, 
too  ugly  even  for  gallantry. 

"Well,  this  girl  was  charming,  and  1  often  gave 
her  a  kiss  in  dark  corners  —  nothing  more,  I  swear  to 
you!  She  was  virtuous,  besides;  and  1  had  some 
respect  for  my  mother's  house,  which  is  more  than 
can  be  said  of  the  blackguards  of  the  present  day. 

"Now  it  happened  that  my  father's  man-servant, 
the  ex-soldier,  the  old  farmer  you  have  just  seen,  fell 
in  love  with  this  girl,  but  in  an  unusual  sort  of  way. 
The  first  thing  we  noticed  was  that  his  memory  was 
affected;  he  did  not  pay  attention  to  anything. 

"My  father  was  incessantly  saying:  'Look  here, 
Jean!  What's  the  matter  with  you.?  Are  you  un- 
well ? ' 

"'No,  no,  M'sieu  1'  Baron.  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  me. ' 

"Jean  got  thin.  Then,  when  serving  at  table,  he 
broke  glasses  and  let  plates  fall.  We  thought  he 
must    have   been    attacked   by  some    nervous    malady, 


20  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

and  we  sent  for  the  doctor,  who  thought  he  could 
detect  symptoms  of  spinal  disease.  Then  my  father, 
full  of  anxiety  about  his  faithful  man-servant,  de- 
cided to  place  him  in  a  private  hospital.  When  the 
poor  fellow  heard  of  my  father's  intentions,  he  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it. 

'"M'sieu  r  Baron—' 

•"Well,  my  boy?' 

"'You  see,  the  thing  I  want  is  not  physic' 

•"Ha!  what  is  it,  then? 

"  'It's  marriage!' 

"My  father  turned  round  and  stared  at  him  in 
astonishment. 

"'What's  that  you  say  — eh?' 

•'  'It's  marriage.' 

"  'Marriage?    So  then,  you  donkey,  you're  in  love.' 

'"That's  how  it  is,  M'sieu  1'  Baron.' 

"And  my  father  began  to  laugh  in  such  an  im- 
moderate fashion  that  my  mother  called  out  through 
the  wall  of  the  next  room: 

'"What  in  the  name  of  goodness  is  the  matter 
with  you,  Gontran?' 

"My  father  replied: 

"'Come  here,  Catherine.' 

"And,  when  she  came  in,  he  told,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes  from  sheer  laughter,  that  his  idiot  of  a  servant- 
man  was  love-sick. 

"But  my  mother,  instead  of  laughing,  was  deeply 
affected. 

"'Who  is  it  that  you  have  fallen  in  love  with, 
my  poor  follow?'  she  asked. 

"He  answered,  without  hesitation: 

"  *  With  Louise,  Madame  la  Baronne.' 


THE    FARMER'S    WIFE  21 

"My  mother  said,  with  the  utmost  gravity:  'We 
must  try  to  arrange  the  matter  the  best  way  we  can.' 

"So  Louise  was  sent  for,  and  questioned  by  my 
mother.  She  said  in  reply  that  she  knew  all  about 
Jean's  liking  for  her,  that  in  fact  Jean  had  spoken  to 
her  about  it  several  times,  but  that  she  did  not  want 
him.     She  refused  to  say  why, 

"And  two  months  elapsed  during  which  my  father 
and  mother  never  ceased  to  urge  this  girl  to  marry 
Jean.  As  she  declared  she  was  not  in  love  with  any 
other  man,  she  could  not  give  any  serious  reason  for 
her  refusal.  My  father,  at  last,  overcame  her  resist- 
ance by  means  of  a  big  present  of  money,  and  started 
the  pair  of  them  on  a  farm  on  the  estate  —  this  very 
farm.  At  the  end  of  three  years,  1  learned  that  Louise 
had  died  of  consumption.  But  my  father  and  my 
mother  died,  too,  in  their  turn,  and  it  was  two  years 
more  before  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  Jean. 

"At  last,  one  autumn  day,  about  the  end  of  Oc- 
tober, the  idea  came  into  my  head  to  go  hunting  on 
this  part  of  my  estate,  which  my  tenant  had  told  me 
was  full  of  game. 

"So,  one  evening,  one  wet  evening,  I  arrived  at 
this  house.  I  was  shocked  to  find  the  old  soldier 
who  had  been  my  father's  servant  perfectly  white- 
haired,  though  he  was  not  more  than  forty-five  or 
forty-six  years  of  age.  I  made  him  dine  with  me,  at 
the  very  table  where  we're  now  sitting.  It  was  rain- 
ing hard.  We  could  hear  the  rain  battering  at  the 
roof,  the  walls,  and  the  windows,  flowing  in  a  per- 
fect deluge  into  the  farmyard;  and  my  dog  was 
howling  in  the  shed  where  the  other  dogs  are  howl- 
ing to-night. 


22  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

"All  of  a  sudden,  when  the  servant-maid  had  gone 
to  bed,  the  man  said  in  a  timid  voice: 

•"M'sieu  r  Baron.' 

"'What  is  it,  my  dear  Jean?' 

"'I  have  something  to  tell  you.' 

"'Tell  it,  my  dear  Jean.' 

"'You  remember  Louise,  my  wife?' 

"'Certainly,  1  do  remember  her.' 

"'Well,  she  left  me  a  message  for  you.' 

"'What  was  it?' 

"  'A  —  a  —  well,  it  was  what  you  might  call  a  con- 
fession.' 

"'Ha!     And  what  was  it  about?' 

"'It  was  —  it  was  —  I'd  rather,  all  the  same,  tell 
you  nothing  about  it  —  but  1  must  —  1  must.  Well, 
it's  this  —  it  wasn't  consumption  she  died  of  at  all. 
It  was  grief — well,  that's  the  long  and  the  short  of 
it.  As  soon  as  she  came  to  live  here,  after  we  were 
married,  she  grew  thin;  she  changed  so  that  you 
wouldn't  know  her  at  the  end  of  six  months  —  no, 
you  wouldn't  know  her,  M'sieu  1'  Baron.  It  was  all 
just  as  before  I  married  her,  but  it  was  different, 
too,  quite  another  sort  of  thing. 

'"I  sent  for  the  doctor.  He  said  it  was  her  liver 
that  was  affected  —  he  said  it  was  what  he  called  a 
"hepatic"  complaint  —  1  don't  know  these  big  words 
M'sieu  r  Baron.  Then  1  bought  medicine  for  her, 
heaps  on  heaps  of  bottles,  that  cost  about  three  hun- 
dred francs.  But  she'd  take  none  of  them;  she 
wouldn't  have  them;  she  said:  "It's  no  use,  my 
poor  Jean;  it  wouldn't  do  me  any  good."  I  saw  well 
that  she  had  some  hidden  trouble;  and  then  I  found 
her  one  time   crying,  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  do 


THE    FARMER'S   WIFE 


23 


—  no,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  bought  caps  and 
dresses  and  hair-oil  and  earrings  for  her.  No  good! 
And  I  saw  that  she  was  going  to  die.  And  so  one 
night  in  the  end  of  November,  one  snowy  night, 
after  remaining  the  whole  day  without  stirring  out  of 
the  bed,  she  told  me  to  send  for  the  cure.  So  I  went 
for  him.  As  soon  as  he  had  come,  she  saw  him. 
Then,  she  asked  him  to  let  me  come  into  the  room, 
and  she  said  to  me:  "Jean,  I'm  going  to  make  a 
confession  to  you.  I  owe  it  to  you,  Jean.  I  have 
never  been  false  to  you,  never!  —  never,  before  or 
after  you  married  me.  M'sieu  le  Cure  is  there,  and 
can  tell  it  is  so,  and  he  knows  my  soul.  Well,  listen, 
Jean.  If  1  am  dying,  it  is  because  I  was  not  able  to 
console  myself  for  leaving  the  chateau  —  because  —  I 
was  too  —  too  fond  of  the  young  Baron,  Monsieur 
Rene  —  too  fond  of  him,  mind  you,  Jean, — there  was 
no  harm  in  it!  This  is  the  thing  that's  killing  me. 
When  I  could  see  him  no  more,  I  felt  that  I  should 
die.  If  I  could  only  have  seen  him,  I  might  have 
lived;  only  seen  him,  nothing  more.  I  wish  you'd 
tell  it  to  him  some  day,  by-and-by,  when  I  am  no 
longer  there.  You  will  tell  him — swear  you  will, 
Jean  —  swear  it  in  the  presence  of  M'sieu  le  Cure!  It 
will  console  me  to  know  that  he  will  know  it  one 
day  —  that  this  was  the  cause  of  my  death!     Swear  it!" 

' ' '  Well,  I  gave  her  my  promise,  M'sieu  I'  Baron !  and, 
on  the  faith  of  an  honest  man,  I  have  kept  my  word.' 

"And  then  he  ceased  speaking,  his  eyes  filling 
with  tears. 

"Upon  my  soul,  my  dear  boy,  you  can't  form  any 
idea  of  the  emotion  that  filled  me   when  I  heard   this 


24 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


poor  devil,  whose  wife  I  had  caused  the  death  of 
without  knowing  it,  telling  me  this  story  on  that  wet 
night  in  this  very  kitchen. 

"I  exclaimed:   'Ah!  my  poor  Jean!  my  poor  Jean!' 

"He  murmured:  'Well,  that's  all,  M'sieu  1'  Baron. 
I  could  do  nothing,  one  way  or  another  —  and  now 
it's  all  over!' 

"I  caught  his  hand  across  the  table,  and  I  began 
to  cry. 

"He  asked:  'Will  you  come  and  see  her  grave?' 
I  nodded  by  way  of  assent,  for  I  couldn't  speak.  He 
rose  up,  lighted  a  lantern,  and  we  walked  through 
the  blinding  rain  which,  in  the  light  of  the  lamp, 
looked  like  falling  arrows. 

"He  opened  a  gate,  and  I  saw  some  crosses  of 
blackwood. 

"Suddenly,  he  said:  'There  it  is,  in  front  of  a 
marble  slab,'  and  he  flashed  the  lantern  close  to  it  so 
that  I  could  read  the  inscription: 

"'To    LOUISE-HORTENSE    MaRINET, 

Wife  of  Jean-Franfois  Lebrument,  farmer. 
She  was  a  faithful  Wife!     God  rest  her  Soul!' 

"We  fell  on  our  knees  in  the  damp  grass,  he  and 
I,  with  the  lantern  between  us,  and  I  saw  the  rain 
beating  on  the  white  marble  slab.  And  I  thought  of 
the  heart  of  her  sleeping  there  in  her  grave.  Ah! 
poor  heart!  poor  heart! 

"Since  then,  I  have  been  coming  here  every  year. 
And  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  guilty 
of  some  crime  in  the  presence  of  this  man  who  al- 
ways shows  that  he  forgives  me!" 


BESIDE    A    DEAD    MAN 


E  WAS  slowly  dying,  as  consumptives 
die.  I  saw  him  sitting  down  every 
day  at  two  o'clock  under  the  win- 
dows of  the  hotel,  facing  the  tran- 
quil sea.  on  an  open-air  bench.  He 
remained  for  some  time  without  mov- 
ing, in  the  heat  of  the  sun,  gazing 
mournfully  at  the  Mediterranean.  Every 
now  and  then  he  cast  a  glance  at  the 
lofty  mountain  with  vaporous  summits 
;h  shuts  in  Mentone;  then,  with  a  very 
"9  '  slow  movement,  he  crossed  his  long  legs,  so 
«^  thin  that  they  seemed  two  bones,  around  which 
O^  fluttered  the  cloth  of  his  trousers,  and  opened 
/  a  book,  which  was  always  the  same.  And  then 
he  did  not  stir  any  more,  but  read  on,  read  on  with 
his  eye  and  with  his  mind;  all  his  poor  expiring 
body  seemed  to  read,  all  his  soul  plunged,  lost  itself, 
disappeared,  in  this  book,  up  to  the  hour  when  the 
cool  air  made  him  cough  a  little.  Then  he  got  up 
and  re-entered  the  hotel. 

He  was  a  tall  German,  with  a  fair  beard,  who 
breakfasted  and  dined  in  his  own  room,  and  spoke 
to   nobody. 

(25) 


26  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

A  vague  curiosity  attracted  me  to  him.  One  day, 
I  sat  down  by  his  side,  having  taken  up  a  book,  too, 
to  keep  up  appearances,  a  volume  of  Musset's  poems. 

And  I  began  to  run  through  "Rolla." 

Suddenly,  my  neighbor  said  to  me,  in  good  French: 

"Do  you  know  German,  Monsieur?" 

"Not  at  all.  Monsieur." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that.  Since  chance  has  thrown 
us  side  by  side,  I  could  have  lent  you,  I  could  have 
shown  you,  an  inestimable  thing  —  this  book  which  I 
hold  in  my  hand." 

"What  is  it,  pray?" 

"  It  is  a  copy  of  my  master,  Schopenhauer,  anno- 
tated with  his  own  hand.  All  the  margins,  as  you 
may  see,  are  covered  with  his  handwriting." 

I  took  the  book  from  him  reverently,  and  I  gazed 
at  those  forms  incomprehensible  to  me,  but  which  re- 
vealed the  immortal  thoughts  of  the  greatest  shatterer 
of  dreams  who  had  ever  dwelt  on  earth. 

And  Musset's  verses  arose  in  my  memory: 

"Hast  thou  found  out,  Voltaire,  that  it  is  bliss  to  die. 
Or  does  thy  hideous  smile  over  thy  bleached  bones  fly  ?  " 

And  involuntarily  I  compared  the  childish  sarcasm, 
the  religious  sarcasm,  of  Voltaire  with  the  irresistible 
irony  of  the  German  philosopher  whose  influence  is 
henceforth  ineffaceable. 

Let  us  protest  and  let  us  be  angry,  let  us  be  in- 
dignant or  let  us  be  enthusiastic.  Schopenhauer  has 
marked  humanity  with  the  seal  of  his  disdain  and  of 
his  disenchantment.  A  disabused  pleasure-seeker,  he 
overthrew  beliefs,  hopes,  poetic  ideals,  and  chimeras, 
destroyed   the   aspirations,  ravaged  the   confidence  of 


BESIDE   A    DEAD    MAN  27 

souls,  killed  love,  dragged  down  the  chivalrous  wor- 
ship of  woman,  crushed  the  illusions  of  hearts,  and 
accomplished  the  most  gigantic  task  ever  attempted 
by  scepticism.  He  passed  over  everything  with  his 
mocking  spirit,  and  left  everything  empty.  And  even 
to-day  those  who  execrate  him  seem  to  carry  por- 
tions of  his  thought,  in  spite  of  themselves,  in  their 
own  souls. 

"So,  then,  you  were  intimately  acquainted  with 
Schopenhauer?"     I  said  to  the  German. 

He  smiled  sadly. 

"Up  to  the  time  of  his  death.  Monsieur." 

And  he  spoke  to  me  about  the  philosopher,  and  told 
me  about  the  almost  supernatural  impression  which 
this  strange  being  made  on  all  who  came  near  him. 

He  gave  me  an  account  of  the  interview  of  the 
old  iconoclast  with  a  French  politician,  a  doctrinaire 
Republican,  who  wanted  to  get  a  glimpse  of  this 
man,  and  found  him  in  a  noisy  tavern,  seated  in  the 
midst  of  his  disciples,  dry,  wrinkled,  laughing  with 
an  unforgettable  laugh,  eating  and  tearing  ideas  and 
beliefs  with  a  single  word,  as  a  dog  tears  with  one 
bite  of  his  teeth  the  tissues  with  which  he  plays. 

He  repeated  for  me  the  comment  of  this  French- 
man as  he  went  away,  scared  and  terrified:  "I 
thought  that  I  had  spent  an  hour  with  the  devil." 

Then  he  added: 

"He  had,  indeed.  Monsieur,  a  frightful  smile, 
which  terrified  us  even  after  his  death.  1  can  tell 
you  an  anecdote  about  it  not  generally  known,  if  it 
has  any  interest  for  you." 

And  he  began,  in  a  tired  voice,  interrupted  by  fre- 
quent fits  of  coughing: 


28  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Schopenhauer  had  just  died,  and  it  was  arranged 
that  we  should  watch,  in  turn,  two  by  two,  till 
morning. 

"  He  was  lying  in  a  large  apartment,  very  simple, 
vast,  and  gloomy.  Two  wax-candles  were  burning 
on  the  bedside  stand. 

"It  was  midnight  when  1  took  up  my  task  of 
watching  along  with  one  of  our  comrades.  The  two 
friends  whom  we  replaced  had  left  the  apartment, 
and  we  came  and  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"The  face  was  not  changed.  It  was  laughing. 
That  pucker  which  we  knew  so  well  lingered  still 
around  the  corners  of  the  lips,  and  it  seemed  to  us 
that  he  was  about  to  open  his  eyes,  to  move,  and 
to  speak.  His  thought,  or  rather  his  thoughts,  en- 
veloped us.  We  felt  ourselves  more  than  ever  in  the 
atmosphere  of  his  genius,  absorbed,  possessed  by 
him.  His  domination  seemed  to  us  even  more  sover- 
eign now  that  he  was  dead.  A  sense  of  mystery 
was  blended  with  the  power  of  this  incomparable 
spirit. 

"The  bodies  of  these  men  disappear,  but  they 
remain  themselves;  and  in  the  night  which  follows 
the  stoppage  of  their  heart's  beating,  I  assure  you, 
Monsieur,  they  are  terrifying. 

"And  in  hushed  tones  we  talked  about  him,  re- 
calling to  mind  certain  sayings,  certain  formulas  of 
his,  those  startling  maxims  which  are  like  jets  of 
flame  flung,  by  means  of  some  words,  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  Unknown  Life. 

"  'It  seems  to  me  that  he  is  going  to  speak,'  said 
my  comrade.  And  we  stared  with  uneasiness  bor- 
dering on  fear  at  the    rr^otionless   face  with  its  eternal 


BESIDE   A    DEAD    MAN 


29 


laugh.  Gradually,  we  began  to  feel  ill  at  ease,  op- 
pressed, on  the  point  of  fainting.     I  faltered: 

"  'I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me,  but, 
I  assure  you  I  am  not  well.' 

"And  at  that  moment  we  noticed  that  there  was 
an  unpleasant  odor  from  the  corpse. 

"Then,  my  comrade  suggested  that  we  should  go 
into  the  adjoining  room,  and  leave  the  door  open; 
and  I  assented  to  this  proposal. 

"I  took  one  of  the  wax-candles  which  burned  on 
the  bedside  stand,  and  I  left  the  second  behind. 
Then  we  went  and  sat  down  at  the  other  end  of  the 
adjoining  apartment,  so  as  to  be  able  to  see  from 
where  we  were  the  bed  and  the  corpse  clearly  re- 
vealed by  the  light. 

"  But  he  still  held  possession  of  us.  One  would 
have  said  that  his  immaterial  essence,  liberated,  free, 
all-powerful,  and  dominating,  was  flitting  around  us. 
And  sometimes,  too,  the  dreadful  smell  of  the  de- 
composing body  came  toward  us  and  penetrated  us, 
sickening  and  indefinable. 

"Suddenly  a  shiver  passed  through  our  bones:  a 
sound,  a  slight  sound,  came  from  the  death-chamber. 
Immediately  we  fixed  our  glances  on  him,  and  we 
saw,  yes.  Monsieur,  we  saw  distinctly,  both  of  us, 
something  white  flying  over  the  bed,  falling  on  the 
carpet,  and  vanishing  under  an  armchair. 

"We  were  on  our  feet  before  we  had  time  to 
think  of  anything,  distracted  by  stupefying  terror, 
ready  to  run  away.  Then  we  stared  at  each  other. 
We  were  horribly  pale.  Our  hearts  throbbed  so 
fiercely  that  our  clothes  swelled  over  our  chests.  I 
was  the  first  to  speak. 


30 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


"'You  saw?' 

'"Yes,  I  saw.' 

"'Can  it  be  that  he  is  not  dead?' 

"'Why  not,  when  the  body  is  putrefying?' 

"'What  are  we  to  do?' 

"My  companion  said  in  a  hesitating  tone: 

"'We  must  go  and  look.' 
"I  took  our  wax-candle  and  I  entered  first,  search- 
ing with  my  eye  through  all  the  large  apartment  with 
its  dark  corners.  There  was  not  the  least  movement 
now,  and  1  approached  the  bed.  But  I  stood  trans- 
fixed with  stupor  and  fright:  Schopenhauer  was  no 
longer  laughing!  He  was  grinning  in  a  horrible 
fashion,  with  his  lips  pressed  together  and  deep  hol- 
lows in  his  cheeks.     1  stammered  out: 

"'He  is  not  dead!' 

"But  the  terrible  odor  rose  up  to  my  nose  and 
stifled  me.  And  I  no  longer  moved,  but  kept  staring 
fixedly  at  him,  scared  as  if  in  the  presence  of  an  ap- 
parition. Then  my  companion,  having  seized  the 
")ther  wax-candle,  bent  forward.  Then,  he  touched 
my  arm  without  uttering  a  word.  1  followed  his 
glance,  and  I  saw  on  the  floor,  under  the  arm- 
chair by  the  side  of  the  bed,  all  white  on  the  dark 
carpet,  open  as  if  to  bite,  Schopenhauer's  set  of  arti- 
ficial  teeth. 

"The  work  of  decomposition,  loosening  the  jaws, 
had  made  it  jump  out  of  the  mouth. 

"I  was  really  frightened  that   day,  Monsieur." 

And  as  the  sun  was  sinking  toward  the  glittering 
sea,  the  consumptive  German  rose  from  his  seat, 
gave  me  a  parting  bow,  and  retired  into  the  hotel. 


A    QJDEER    NIGHT     IN     PARIS 


AiTRE    Saval,    notary    at    Vernon, 
was  passionately  fond  of  music. 
Still  young,  though  already  bald, 
always  carefully  shaved,  a  little  cor- 
pulent, as  was  fitting,  wearing  a  gold 
pince-nei    instead    of    old-fashioned 
spectacles,  active,  gallant,  and  joyous, 
he  passed  in  Vernon  for  an  artist.     He 
thrummed   on  the  piano   and   played  on 
the    violin,     and    gave    musical    evenings 
where    mterpretations  were  given    of  new 
operas. 

He  had  even  what  is  called  a  bit  of  a  voice; 
nothing  but  a  bit,  a  very  little  bit  of  a  voice; 
but  he  managed  it  with  so  much  taste  that  cries  of 
"Bravo!"  "Exquisite!"  "Surprising!"  "Adorable!" 
issued  from  every  throat  as  soon  as  he  had  mur- 
mured the  last  note. 

He  was  a  subscriber  to  a  music  publisher  in  Paris, 
who  sent  all  new  pieces  to  him.  From  time  to 
time  to  the  high  society  of  the  town  he  sent  little 
notes  something  in  this  style: 

(3«) 


32 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"You  are  invited  to  be  present  on  Monday  even- 
ing at  the  house  of  M.  Saval,  notary,  Vernon,  at  the 
first  production  of  'Sais.'" 

A  few  officers,  gifted  with  good  voices,  formed 
the  chorus.  Two  or  three  of  the  vinedressers'  fami- 
nes also  sang.  The  notary  filled  the  part  of  leader  of 
the  orchestra  with  so  much  skill  that  the  band-master 
of  the  190th  regiment  of  the  line  said  one  day,  at 
the  Cafe  de  I'Europe: 

"Oh!  M.  Saval  is  a  master.  It  is  a  great  pity  that 
he  did  not  adopt  the  career  of  an  artist." 

When  his  name  was  mentioned  in  a  drawing-room, 
there  was  always  somebody  found  to  declare:  "He 
is  not  an  amateur;  he  is  an  artist,  a  genuine  artist." 
And  two  or  three  persons  would  repeat,  in  a  tone  of 
profound  conviction:  "Oh!  yes,  a  genuine  artist," 
laying  particular  stress  on  the  word  "genuine." 

Every  time  that  a  new  work  was  interpreted  at  a 
big  Parisian  theater,  M.  Saval  paid  a  visit  to  the  cap- 
ital. Last  year,  according  to  his  custom,  he  went  to 
hear  "Henry  VIll."  He  then  took  the  express  which 
arrives  in  Paris  at  4:30  P.  M.,  intending  to  return  by 
the  12:35  A.  M.  train  so  as  not  to  have  to  sleep  at  a 
hotel.  He  had  put  on  evening  dress,  a  black  coat 
and  white  tie,  which  he  concealed  under  his  overcoat 
with  the  collar  turned  up. 

As  soon  as  he  had  planted  his  foot  on  the  Rue  d' 
Amsterdam,  he  felt  in  quite  a  jovial  mood,  and  said 
to  himself: 

"Decidedly  the  air  of  Paris  does  not  resemble  any 
other  air.  It  has  in  it  something  indescribably  stim- 
ulating, exciting,  intoxicating,  which  fills  you  with  a 
strange    longing   to    gambol    and   to    do    many  other 


A   QUEER  NIGHT   IN   PARIS  33 

things.  As  soon  as  I  arrive  here,  it  seems  to  me,  all 
of  a  sudden,  that  I  have  taken  a  bottle  of  champagne. 
What  a  life  one  can  lead  in  this  city  in  the  midst  of 
artists!  Happy  are  the  elect,  the  great  men  who  en- 
joy renown  in  such  a  city!  What  an  existence  is 
theirs!" 

And  he  made  plans;  he  would  have  liked  to  know 
some  of  those  celebrated  men,  to  talk  about  them  in 
Vernon,  and  to  spend  an  evening  with  them  from 
time  to  time  in  Paris. 

But  suddenly  an  idea  struck  him.  He  had  heard 
allusions  to  little  cafes  in  the  outer  boulevards  at 
which  well-known  painters,  men  of  letters,  and  even 
musicians  gathered,  and  he  proceeded  to  go  up  toward 
Montmartre  at  a  slow  pace. 

He  had  two  hours  before  him.  He  wanted  to  have 
a  look  round.  He  passed  in  front  of  taverns  fre- 
quented by  belated  Bohemians,  gazing  at  the  different 
faces,  seeking  to  discover  the  artists.  Finally,  he  came 
to  the  sign  of  "The  Dead  Rat,"  and,  allured  by  the 
name,  he  entered. 

Five  or  six  women,  with  their  elbows  resting  on 
the  marble  tables,  were  talking  in  low  tones  about 
their  love  affairs,  the  quarrels  of  Lucie  with  Hortense, 
and  the  scoundrelism  of  Octave.  They  were  no  longer 
young,  but  were  fat  or  thin,  tired  out,  used  up.  You 
could  see  that  they  were  almost  bald;  and  they  drank 
bocks  like  men. 

M.  Saval  sat  down  at  some  distance  from  them, 
and  waited,  for  the  hour  for  taking  absinthe  was  at 
hand. 

A  tall  young  man  soon  came  in  and  took  a  seat 
beside  him.    The  landlady  called  him  "M.  Romantin." 

5     G.  de  M.— 1 


34 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


The  notary  quivered.  Was  this  the  Romantin  who 
had  taken  a  medal  at  the  last  Salon  ? 

The  young  man  made  a  sign  to  the  waiter: 

"You  will  bring  up  my  dinner  at  once,  and  then 
carry  to  my  new  studio,  15,  Boulevard  de  Clichy, 
thirty  bottles  of  beer  and  the  ham  I  ordered  this 
morning.     We  are  going  to  have  a  housewarming." 

M.  Saval  immediately  ordered  dinner.  Then  he 
took  off  his  overcoat,  so  that  his  dress  coat  and  his 
white  tie  could  be  seen.  His  neighbor  did  not  seem 
to  notice  him.  He  had  taken  up  a  newspaper,  and 
was  reading  it.  M.  Saval  glanced  sideways  at  him, 
burning  with  the  desire  to  speak  to  him. 

Two  young  men  entered,  in  red  velvet,  and  peaked 
beards  in  the  fashion  of  Henry  III.  They  sat  down 
opposite  Romantin. 

The  first  of  the  pair  said: 

"It  is  for  this  evening.?" 

Romantin  pressed  his  hand. 

"1  believe  you,  old  chap,  and  everyone  will  be 
there.  1  have  Bonnat,  Guillemet,  Gervex,  Beraud, 
Hebert,  Duez,  Clairin,  and  Jean-Paul  Laurens.  It  will 
be  a  glorious  blowout!  And  women,  too!  Wait  till 
you  see!  Every  actress  without  exception  —  of  course 
I  mean,  you  know,  all  those  who  have  nothing  to  do 
this  evening." 

The  landlord  of  the  establishment  came  across. 

"Do  you  often  have  this  housewarming.?" 

The  painter  replied: 

"Certainly  —  every  three  months,  each  quarter." 

M.  Saval  could  not  restrain  himself  any  longer, 
and  in  a  hesitating  voice  said: 

"1  beg  your  pardon   for  intruding  on  you,  Mon- 


A   QUEER   NIGHT   IN   PARIS  35 

sieur,  but  I  heard  your  name  pronounced,  and  !  would 
be  very  glad  to  know  if  you  really  are  M.  Romantin 
whose  work  in  the  last  Salon  I  have  so  much  ad- 
mired." 

The  painter  answered: 

"I  am  the  very  person,  Monsieur." 

The  notary  then  paid  the  artist  a  very  well-turned 
compliment,  showing  that  he  was  a  man  of  culture. 
The  painter,  gratified,  thanked  him  politely  in  reply. 
Then  they  chatted.  Romantin  returned  to  the  subject 
of  his  housewarming,  going  into  details  as  to  the 
magnificence  of  the  forthcoming  entertainment. 

M.  Saval  questioned  him  as  to  all  the  men  he  was 
going  to  receive,  adding: 

"  It  would  be  an  extraordinary  piece  of  good  for- 
tune for  a  stranger,  to  meet  at  one  time,  so  many 
celebrities  assembled  in  the  studio  of  an  artist  of 
your  rank." 

Romantin,  overcome,  answered:  "  If  it  would  be 
agreeable  to  you,  come." 

M.  Saval  accepted  the  invitation  with  enthusiasm, 
reflecting: 

"  I'll  always  have  time  enough  to  see  '  Henry  VIII.' " 

Both  of  them  had  finished  their  meal.  The  notary 
insisted  on  paying  the  two  bills,  wishing  to  repay 
his  neighbor's  civilities.  He  also  paid  for  the  drinks 
of  the  young  fellows  in  red  velvet;  then  he  left  the 
establishment  with  the  painter. 

They  stopped  in  front  of  a  very  long  house,  by 
no  means  high,  the  first  story  of  which  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  interminable  conservatory.  Six  studios 
stood  in  a  row  with  their  fronts  facing  the  boule- 
vards. 


36 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


Romantin  was  the  first  to  enter.  Ascending  the 
stairs,  he  opened  a  door,  and  lighted  a  match  and 
then  a  candle. 

They  found  themselves  in  an  immense  apartment, 
the  furniture  of  which  consisted  of  three  chairs,  two 
easels,  and  a  few  sketches  lying  on  the  floor  along 
the  walls.  M.  Saval  remained  standing  at  the  door 
in  a  stupefied  state  of  mind. 

The  painter  remarked: 

"Here  you  are!  We've  got  to  the  spot;  but  every- 
thing has  yet  to  be  done." 

Then,  examining  the  high,  bare  apartment,  whose 
ceiling  was  veiled  in  shadows  he  said: 

"We  might  make  a  great  deal  out  of  this  studio." 

He  walked  round  it,  surveying  it  with  the  utmost 
attention,  then  went  on: 

"I  have  a  mistress  who  might  easily  give  us  a 
helping  hand.  Women  are  incomparable  for  hanging 
drapery.  But  1  sent  her  to  the  country  for  to-day  in 
order  to  get  her  off  my  hands  this  evening.  It  is 
not  that  she  bores  me,  but  she  is  too  much  lacking 
in  the  ways  of  good  society.  It  would  be  embar- 
rassing to  my  guests." 

He  reflected  for  a  few   seconds,   and  then  added: 

"She  is  a  good  girl,  but  not  easy  to  deal  with. 
If  she  knew  that  1  was  holding  a  reception,  she  would 
tear  out  my  eyes." 

M.  Saval  had  not  even  moved;  he  did  not  under- 
stand. 

The  artist  came  over  to  him. 

"Since  I  have  invited  you,  you  are  going  to  give 
me  some  help." 

The  notary  said  emphatically: 


A  QUEER  NIGHT   IN    PARIS  37 

"Make  any  use  of  me  you  please.  I  am  at  your 
disposal." 

Romantin  took  off  his  jacket. 

"Well,  citizen,  to  work!  We  are  first  going  to 
clean  up." 

He  went  to  the  back  of  the  easel,  on  which  there 
was  a  canvas  representing  a  cat,  and  seized  a  very 
worn-out  broom. 

"I  say!  Just  brush  up  while  I  look  after  the 
lighting." 

M.  Saval  took  the  broom,  inspected  it,  and  then 
began  to  sweep  the  floor  very  awkwardly,  raising  a 
whirlwind  of  dust. 

Romantin,  disgusted,  stopped  him:  "Deuce  take 
it!  you  don't  know  how  to  sweep  the  floor!  Look 
at  me!" 

And  he  began  to  roll  before  him  a  heap  of 
grayish  sweepings,  as  if  he  had  done  nothing  else  all 
his  life.  Then  he  gave  back  the  broom  to  the  no- 
tary, who  imitated  him. 

In  five  minutes,  such  a  cloud  of  dust  filled  the 
studio  that  Romantin  asked: 

"Where  are  you?    I  can't  see  you  any  longer." 

M.  Saval,  who  was  coughing,  came  nearer  to  him. 
The  painter  said  to  him: 

"How  are  you  going  to  manage  to  get  up  a  chan- 
delier." 

The  other,  stunned,  asked: 

"What  chandelier?" 

"Why,  a  chandelier  to  light  —  a  chandelier  with 
wax-candles." 

The  notary  did  not  understand. 

He  answered:    "I  don't  know." 


38  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

The  painter  began  to  jump  about,  cracking  his 
fingers. 

"Weil,  Monseigneur,  I  have  found  out  a  way." 

Then  he  went  more  calmly: 

"Have  you  got  five  francs  about  you?" 

M.  Saval  replied: 

"Why,  yes." 

The  artist  said: 

"Well!  you'll  go  and  buy  for  me  five  francs' 
worth  of  wax-candles  while  1  go  and  see  the  cooper." 

And  he  pushed  the  notary  in  his  evening  coat  into 
the  street.  At  the  end  of  five  minutes,  they  had  re- 
turned, one  of  them  with  the  wax-candles,  and  the 
other  with  the  hoop  of  a  cask.  Then  Romantin 
plunged  his  hand  into  a  cupboard,  and  drew  forth 
twenty  empty  bottles,  which  he  fixed  in  the  form  of 
a  crown  around  the  hoop.  He  then  came  down,  and 
went  to  borrow  a  ladder  from  the  doorkeeper,  after 
having  explained  that  he  had  obtained  the  favors  of  the 
old  woman  by  painting  the  portrait  of  her  cat  ex- 
hibited on  the  easel. 

When  he  mounted  the  ladder,  he  said  to  M.  Saval: 

"Are  you  active?" 

The  other,  without  understanding  answered: 

"Why,  yes." 

"Well,  you  just  climb  up  there,  and  fasten  this 
chandelier  for  me  to  the  ring  of  the  ceiling.  Then 
you  must  put  a  wax-candle  in  each  bottle,  and  fight 
it.  I  tell  you  I  have  a  genius  for  lighting  up.  But 
off  with  your  coat,  damn  it!  you  are  just  like  a 
Jeames." 

The  door  was  opened  violently.  A  woman  ap- 
peared, with  her  eyes  flashing,  and  remained  standing 


A  QUEER  NIGHT   IN   PARIS  39 

on  the  threshold.  Romantin  gazed  at  her  with  a 
look  of  terror.  She  waited  some  seconds,  crossed 
her  arms  over  her  breast,  and  then  in  a  shrill,  vibrat- 
ing, exasperated  voice  said: 

"Ha!  you  villain,  is  this  the  way  you  leave  me?" 
Romantin  made  no  reply.     She  went  on: 
"Ha!    you   scoundrel!     You   are    again    doing   the 
swell,  while  you  pack  me  off  to  the  country.     You'll 
soon   see   the  way   I'll    settle    your  jollification.     Yes, 
I'm  going  to  receive  your  friends." 
She  grew  warmer: 

"I'm  going  to  slap  their  faces  with  the  bottles  and 
the  wax-candles." 

Romantin  uttered  one  soft  word: 
"Mathilde." 

But  she  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  him;  she 
went  on: 

"Wait  a  little,  my  fine  fellow!  wait  a  little!" 
Romantin  went  over  to  her,  and  tried  to  take  her 
by  the  hands: 
"Mathilde." 

But  she  was  now  fairly  under  way;  and  on  she 
went,  emptying  the  vials  of  her  wrath  with  strong 
words  and  reproaches.  They  flowed  out  of  her 
mouth,  like  a  stream  sweeping  a  heap  of  filth  along 
with  it.  The  words  hurled  out  seemed  struggling 
for  exit.  She  stuttered,  stammered,  yelled,  suddenly 
recovering  her  voice  to  cast  forth  an  insult  or  a 
curse. 

He  seized  her  hands  without  her  having  even 
noticed  it.  She  did  not  seem  to  see  anything,  so 
much  occupied  was  she  in  holding  forth  and  relieving 
her   heart.     And   suddenly  she    began    to  weep.     The 


40 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


tears  flowed  from  her  eyes  without  making  her  stem 
the  tide  of  her  complaints.  But  her  words  had  taken 
a  howling,  shrieking  tone;  they  were  a  continuous 
cry  interrupted  by  sobbings.  She  commenced  afresh 
twice  or  three  times,  till  she  stopped  as  if  something 
were  choking  her,  and  at  last  she  ceased  with  a 
regular  flood   of  tears. 

Then  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
hair,  himself  affected. 

"Mathilde,  my  little  Mathilde,  listen.  You  must 
be  reasonable.  You  know,  if  1  give  a  supper  party  to 
my  friends,  it  is  to  thank  these  gentlemen  for  the 
medal  1  got  at  the  Salon,  I  cannot  receive  women. 
You  ought  to  understand  that.  It  is  not  the  same 
with  artists  as  with  other  people." 

She  stammered  in  the  midst  of  her  tears: 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this?" 

He   replied: 

"It  was  in  order  not  to  annoy  you,  not  to  give 
you  pain.  Listen,  I'm  going  to  see  you  home.  You 
will  be  very  sensible,  very  nice;  you  will  remain 
quietly  waiting  for  me  in  bed,  and  I'll  come  back  as 
soon  as  it's  over." 

She  murmured: 

"Yes,  but  you  will  not  begin  over  again?" 

"No,  I  swear  to  you! " 

He  turned  toward  M.  Saval,  who  had  at  last  hooked 
on  the  chandelier: 

"My  dear  friend,  1  am  coming  back  in  five  min- 
utes. If  anyone  arrives  in  my  absence,  do  the  honors 
for  me,  will  you  not?" 

And  he  carried  off  Mathilde,  who  kept  drying  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief  as  she  went  along. 


A  QUEER  NIGHT  IN   PARIS  4I 

Left  to  himself,  M.  Saval  succeeded  in  putting 
everything  around  him  in  order.  Then  he  lighted 
the  wax-candles  and  waited. 

He  waited  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  half  an  hour, 
an  hour,  Romantin  did  not  return.  Then,  suddenly, 
there  was  a  dreadful  noise  on  the  stairs,  a  song 
shouted  out  in  chorus  by  twenty  mouths  and  a  reg- 
ular march  like  that  of  a  Prussian  regiment.  The 
whole  house  was  shaken  by  the  steady  tramp  of  feet. 
The  door  flew  open,  and  a  motley  throng  appeared  — 
men  and  women  in  a  row,  holding  one  another  arm 
in  arm,  in  pairs,  and  kicking  their  heels  on  the 
floor,  in  proper  time  —  advancing  into  the  studio  like 
a  snake  uncoiling  itself.     They  howled: 

"Come,  let  us  all  be  merry, 
Pretty  maids  and  soldiers  gay!" 

M.  Saval,  thunderstruck,  remained  standing  in 
evening  dress  under  the  chandelier.  The  procession 
of  revellers  caught  sight  of  him,  and  uttered  a  shout: 

"A  Jeames!     A  Jeames!" 

And  they  began  whirling  round  him,  surrounding 
him  with  a  circle  of  vociferation.  Then  they  took 
each  other  by  the  hand  and  went  dancing  about 
madly. 

He  attempted  to  explain: 

' '  Messieurs  —  Messieurs  —  Mesdames  — " 

But  they  did  not  listen  to  him.  They  whirled 
about,  they  jumped,  they  brawled. 

At  last  the  dancing  ceased.  M.  Saval  uttered  the 
Word: 

"  Messieurs — " 


42  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

A  tall  young  fellow,  fair-haired  and  bearded  to  the 
nose,  interrupted   him: 

"What's  your  name,  my  friend?" 

The  notary,  quite  scared,  said: 

"I  am  M.  Saval." 

A  voice  exclaimed: 

"You  mean  Baptiste." 

A  wom.an  said: 

"Let  the  poor  waiter  alone!  You'll  end  by  mak- 
ing him  get  angry.  He's  paid  to  attend  on  us,  and 
not  to  be  laughed  at  by  us." 

Then,  M.  Saval  noticed  that  each  guest  had 
brought  his  own  provisions.  One  held  a  bottle  of 
wine,  another  a  pie.  This  one  had  a  loaf  of  bread, 
that  one  a  ham. 

The  tall,  fair,  young  fellow  placed  in  his  hands  an 
enormous  sausage,  and  gave  him  orders; 

"Go  and  settle  up  the  sideboard  in  the  corner 
over  there.  You  are  to  put  the  bottles  at  the  left 
and  the  provisions  at  the  right." 

Saval,  getting  quite  distracted,  exclaimed: 

"But,  Messieurs,  1  am  a  notary!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  and  then  a  wild 
outburst  of  laughter.  One  suspicious  gentleman 
asked: 

"How  are  you  here.?" 

He  explained,  telling  about  his  project  of  going 
to  the  opera,  his  departure  from  Vernon,  his  arrival 
in  Paris,  and  the  way  in  which  he  had  spent  the 
evening. 

They  sat  around  him  to  listen  to  him;  they 
greeted  him  with  words  of  applause,  and  called  him 
Scheherazade. 


A  QUEER  NIGHT   IN   PARIS  4^ 

Romantin  did  not  come  back.  Other  guests  arrived. 
M.  Saval  was  presented  to  them  so  that  he  might  begin 
his  story  over  again.  He  declined;  they  forced  him 
to  relate  it.  They  fixed  him  on  one  of  three  chairs 
between  two  women  who  kept  constantly  filling  his 
glass.  He  drank;  he  laughed;  he  talked;  he  sang,  too. 
He  tried  to  waltz  with  his  chair,  and  fell  on  the  floor. 

From  that  moment,  he  forgot  everything.  It 
seemed  to  him,  however,  that  they  undressed  him, 
put  him  to  bed,  and  that  his  stomach  got  sick. 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  he 
lay  stretched  with  his  feet  against  a  cupboard,  in  a 
strange  bed. 

An  old  woman  with  a  broom  in  her  hand  was 
glaring  angrily  at  him.     At  last,  she  said: 

"Clear  out,  you  blackguard!  Clear  out!  What 
right  has  anyone  to  get  drunk  like  this?" 

He  sat  up  in  the  bed,  feeling  very  ill  at  ease.  He 
asked: 

"Where  am  1.?" 

"Where  are  you,  you  dirty  scamp?  You  are 
drunk.  Take  your  rotten  carcass  out  of  here  as  quick 
as  you  can, —  and  lose  no  time  about  it!" 

He  wanted  to  get  up.  He  found  that  he  was 
naked  in  the  bed.  His  clothes  had  disappeared.  He 
blurted  out: 

"Madame,  I  —  " 

Then  he  remembered.  What  was  he  to  do?  He 
asked: 

"Did  Monsieur  Romantin  come  back?" 

The  doorkeeper  shouted: 

"Will  you  take  your  dirty  carcass  out  of  this  so 
thai  he  at  any  rate  may  not  catch  you  here?" 


44 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


M.  Saval  said,  in  a  state  of  confusion: 

**I  haven't  got  my  clothes;  they  have  been  taken 
away  from  me." 

He  had  to  wait,  to  explain  his  situation,  give 
notice  to  his  friends,  and  borrow  some  money  to  buy 
clothes.     He  did  not  leave   Paris  till  evening. 

And,  when  people  talk  about  music  to  him  in  his 
beautiful  drawing-room  in  Vernon,  he  declares  with 
an  air  of  authority  that  painting  is  a  very  inferior  art. 


THE    PEDDLER 


^.r'Bi 


H 


ow  many  trifling    occurrences  — 
tilings  wliicli  liave    left    only   a 


on 


our 


passing  impression 
^^%j^  minds,  Iiumble  dramas  of  wiiicli  we 
S^  iiave  got  a  mere  glimpse,  so  that  we 
j^  have  to  guess  at  or  suspect  their  real 
nature  —  are,  while  we  are  still  young 
'  and  inexperienced,  guiding  us,  step  by 
step,  toward  a  knowledge  of  the  painful 
truth ! 
J£^  Every  now  and  then,  when  I  am  retracing 
C^^  '  my  steps  during  the  long  wandering  reveries 
^-  which  distract  my  thoughts  along  the  path  through 
>  which  I  saunter  at  random,  my  soul  takes  wing,  and 
suddenly  I  recall  little  incidents  of  a  gay  or  sinister 
character  which,  emerging  from  the  shades  of  the  past, 
flit  before  my  memory  as  the  birds  flit  through  the 
bushes  before  my  eyes. 

This  summer,  I  wandered  along  a  road  in  Savoy 
which  commands  a  view  of  the  right  bank  of  the 
Lake  of  Bourget,  and,  while  my  glance  floated  over 
that  mass  of  water,  mirror-like,  and  blue  with  a 
unique  blue,  tinted  with  glittering   beams  by  the  set- 

(45) 


46  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

ting  sun,  I  felt  my  heart  stirred  by  that  attachment 
which  I  have  had  since  my  childhood  for  the  surface 
of  lakes,  for  rivers,  and  for  the  sea.  On  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  vast  liquid  plate,  so  long  that  you  did 
not  see  the  ends  of  it,  one  vanishing  in  the  Rhone, 
and  the  other  in  the  Bourget,  rose  the  high  moun- 
tain, jagged  like  a  crest  up  to  the  topmost  peak  of 
the  "Cat's  Tooth."  On  either  side  of  the  road, 
vines,  trailing  from  tree  to  tree,  massed  under  their 
leaves  their  slender  supporting  branches,  and  ex- 
tended in  garlands  through  the  fields,  green,  yellow, 
and  red  garlands,  festooning  from  one  trunk  to  the 
other,  and  spotted  with  clusters  of  dark  grapes. 

The  road  was  deserted,  v^hite,  and  dusty.  All  of 
a  sudden  a  man  emerged  out  of  the  thicket  of  large 
trees  which  shuts  in  the  village  of  Saint-Innocent, 
and,  bending  under  a  load,  came  toward  me,  leaning 
on  a  stick. 

When  he  had  come  closer  to  me,  I  discovered 
that  he  was  a  peddler,  one  of  those  itinerant  dealers 
who  go  about  the  country  from  door  to  door  selling 
paltry  objects  cheaply,  and  thereupon  a  reminiscence 
of  long  ago  arose  up  in  my  mind,  a  mere  nothing 
almost,  the  recollection  simply  of  an  accidental  meeting 
I  had  one  night  between  Argenteuil  and  Paris  when 
I  was  twenty-one. 

All  the  happiness  of  my  life,  at  that  period,  was 
derived  from  boating.  I  had  taken  a  room  in  an 
obscure  inn  at  Argenteuil,  and  every  evening  1  took 
the  Government  clerks'  train,  that  long,  slow  train 
which,  in  its  course,  sets  down  at  different  stations 
a  crowd  of  men  with  little  parcels,  men  fat  and 
heavy,  for  they  scarcely  walk  at  all,  with  trousers  that 


THE   PEDDLER  47 

are  always  baggy  owing  to  their  constant  occupation 
of  tlie  office-stool.  This  train,  in  which  it  seemed  to 
me  I  could  even  sniff  the  odor  of  the  writing-desk, 
of  official  documents  and  boxes,  deposited  me  at  Ar- 
genteuil.  My  boat  was  waiting  for  me,  ready  to 
glide  over  the  water.  And  I  rapidly  plied  my  oar  so 
that  I  might  get  out  and  dine  at  Bezons  or  Chatou 
or  Epinay  or  Saint-Ouen.  Then  I  came  back,  put 
up  my  boat,  and  made  my  way  back  on  foot  to  Paris 
with  the  moon  shining  down  on  me. 

Well,  one  night  on  the  white  road  I  perceived 
just  in  front  of  me  a  man  walking.  Oh!  I  was  con- 
stantly meeting  those  night  travelers  of  the  Parisian 
suburbs  so  much  dreaded  by  belated  citizens.  This 
man  went  on  slowly  before  me  with  a  heavy  load  on 
his  shoulders. 

I  came  right  up  to  him,  quickening  my  pace 
so  much  that  my  footsteps  rang  on  the  road.  He 
stopped,  and  turned  round;  then,  as  I  kept  approaching 
nearer  and  nearer,  he  crossed  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  road. 

As  I  rapidly  passed  him,  he  called  out  to  me: 

"Hallo!  good  evening,  Monsieur" 

I    responded: 

"Good  evening,  comrade." 

He   went   on: 

"Are  you  going  far?" 

"1  am  going  to  Paris." 

"You  won't  be  long  getting  there;  you're  going 
at  a  good  pace.  As  for  me,  I  have  too  big  a  load  on 
my  shoulders  to  walk  so  quickly." 

I  slackened  my  pace.  Why  had  this  man  spoken 
to  me?    What    was    he    carrying    in    this    big   pack? 


48  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Vague  suspicions  of  crime  sprang  up  in  my  mind, 
and  rendered  me  curious.  Tiie  columns  of  the  news- 
papers every  morning  contain  so  many  accounts  of 
crimes  committed  in  this  place,  the  peninsula  of  Gen- 
nevilliers,  that  some  of  them  must  be  true.  Such 
things  are  not  invented  merely  to  amuse  readers  — 
all  this  catalogue  of  arrests  and  varied  misdeeds  with 
which  the  reports  of  the  law-courts  are  filled. 

However,  this  man's  voice  seemed  more  timid  than 
bold,  and  up  to  the  present  his  manner  had  been 
more  discreet  than  aggressive. 

In  my  turn  I  began  to  question  him: 
"And  you  —  are  you  going  far?" 
"Not  farther  than  Asnieres." 
"Is  Asnieres  your  place  of  abode?" 
"Yes,    Monsieur,  I   am    a    peddler   by  occupation, 
and  I  live  at  Asnieres." 

He  had  quitted  the  sidewalk,  where  pedestrians 
move  along  in  the  daytime  under  the  shadows  of  the 
trees,  and  was  soon  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  i 
followed  his  example.  We  kept  staring  at  each  othe/ 
suspiciously,  each  of  us  holding  his  stick  in  his  hand 
When  I  was  sufficiently  close  to  him,  I  felt  less  dis- 
trustful. He  evidently  was  disposed  to  assume  thf 
same  attitude  toward  me,  for  he  asked: 

"Would  you  mind  going  a  little  more  slowly?" 
"Why  do  you  say  this?" 

"Because  I  don't  care  for  this  road  by  night.  / 
have  goods  on  my  back,  and  two  are  always  bettei 
than  one.  When  two  men  are  together,  people  don't 
attack   them." 

I  felt  that  he  was  speaking  truly,  and  that  he  was 
afraid.     So  1  yielded  to   his   wishes,  and   the   pair  of 


THE    PEDDLER 


49 


US  walked  on  side  by  side,  this  stranger  and  I,  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  along  the.  road  leading  from 
Argenteuil  to  Asnieres. 

"Why  are  you  going  home  so  late  when  it  is  so 
dangerous?"  I  asked  my  companion. 

He  told  me  his  history.  He  had  not  intended  to 
return  home  this  evening,  as  he  had  brought  with 
him  that  very  morning  a  stock  of  goods  to  last  him 
three  or  four  days.  But  he  had  been  so  fortunate  in 
disposing  of  them  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  get 
back  to  his  abode  without  delay  in  order  to  deliver 
next  day  a  number  of  things  which  had  been  bought 
on   credit. 

He  explained  to  me  with  genuine  satisfaction  that 
he  had  managed  the  business  very  well,  having  a 
tendency  to  talk  confidentially,  and  that  the  knick- 
knacks  he  displayed  were  useful  to  him  in  getting 
rid,  while  gossiping,  of  other  things  which  he  could 
not  easily  sell. 

He  added: 

"I  have  a  shop  in  Asnieres.    'Tis  my  wife  keeps  it." 

"Ah!     So  you're  married?" 

"Yes,  M'sieu,  for  the  last  fifteen  months.  I  have 
got  a  very  nice  wife.  She'll  get  a  surprise  when  she 
sees  me  coming  home  to-night." 

He  then  gave  me  an  account  of  his  marriage.  He 
had  been  after  this  young  girl  for  two  years,  but  she 
had  taken  time  to  make  up  her  mind. 

She  had  since  her  childhood  kept  a  little  shop  at 
the  corner  of  a  street,  where  she  sold  all  sorts  of 
things  —  ribbons,  flowers  in  summer,  and  principally 
pretty  little  shoe-buckles,  and  many  other  gewgaws, 
in  which,  owing  to  the  favor  of  a   manufacturer,  she 

S     G.  de  M,     4 


50 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


enjoyed  a  monopoly.  She  was  well  known  in  As- 
nieres  as  "La  Bluette."  This  name  was  given  to  her 
because  she  often  dressed  in  blue.  And  she  made 
money,  as  she  was  very  skillful  in  everything  she  did. 
His  impression  was  that  she  was  not  very  well  at  the 
present  moment;  but  he  was  not  quite  sure.  Their 
business  was  prospering;  and  he  traveled  about  ex- 
hibiting samples  to  all  the  small  traders  in  the  ad- 
joining districts.  He  had  become  a  sort  of  traveling 
commission-agent  for  some  of  the  manufacturers, 
working  at  the  same  time  for  them  and  for  himself. 

"And  you  —  what  are  you?"  he  said. 

I  answered  him  with  an  air  of  embarrassment.  I 
explained  that  I  had  a  sailing-boat  and  two  yawls  in 
Argenteuil,  that  I  came  for  a  row  every  evening, 
and  that,  as  I  was  fond  of  exercise,  1  sometimes 
walked  back  to  Paris,  where  1  had  a  profession, 
which  —  I  led  him  to  infer  —  was  a  lucrative  one. 

He  remarked: 

"Faith,  if  1  had  money  like  you,  I  wouldn't  amuse 
myself  by  trudging  that  way  along  the  roads  at  night. 
'Tisn't  safe  along  here." 

He  gave  me  a  sidelong  glance,  and  I  asked  myself 
whether  he  might  not,  all  the  same,  be  a  criminal  oi 
the  sneaking  type  who  did  not  want  to  run  any 
fruitless  risk. 

Then  he  restored  my  confidence,  when  he  mur- 
mured: 

"A  little  less  quickly,  if  you  please.  This  pack  of 
mine  is  heavy." 

The  sight  of  a  group  of  houses  showed  that  we 
had  reached  Asnieres. 

"I  am  nearly  at  home,"  he  said.     "We  don't  sleep 


THE   PEDDLER  5 I 

in  the  shop;  it  is  watched  at  night  by  a  dog,  but  a 
dog  who  is  worth  four  men.  Ai)d  then  it  costs  too 
much  to  live  in  the  center  of  the  town.  But  listen 
to  me,  Monsieur!  You  have  rendered  me  a  precious 
service,  for  I  don't  feel  my  mind  at  ease  when  I'm 
traveling  with  my  pack  along  the  roads.  Well,  now 
you  must  come  in  with  me,  and  drink  a  glass  of 
mulled  wine  with  my  wife  if  she  hasn't  gone  to  bed, 
for  she  is  a  sound  sleeper  and  doesn't  like  to  be 
waked  up.  Besides,  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  without  my 
pack,  and  so  I'll  see  you  to  the  gates  of  the  city  with 
a  cudgel  in  my  hand." 

I  declined  the  invitation;  he  insisted  on  my  com- 
ing in;  I  still  held  back;  he  pressed  me  with  so  much 
eagerness,  with  such  an  air  of  real  disappointment, 
such  expressions  of  deep  regret  —  for  he  had  the  art 
of  expressing  himself  very  forcibly  —  asking  me  in 
the  tone  of  one  who  felt  wounded  "whether  I  ob- 
jected to  have  a  drink  with  a  man  like  him,"  that  I 
finally  gave  way  and  followed  him  up  a  lonely  road 
toward  one  of  those  big  dilapidated  houses  which  are 
to  be  found  on  the  outskirts  of  suburbs. 

In  front  of  this  dwelling  I  hesitated.  This  high 
barrack  of  plaster  looked  like  a  den  for  vagabonds,  a 
hiding-place  for  suburban  brigands.  But  he  pushed 
open  a  door  which  had  not  been  locked,  and  made 
me  go  in  before  him.  He  led  me  forward  by  the  shoul- 
ders, through  profound  darkness,  toward  a  staircase 
where  1  had  to  feel  my  way  with  my  hands  and 
feet,  with  a  well-grounded  apprehension  of  tumbling 
into  some  gaping  cellar. 

When  I  had  reached  the  first  landing,  he  said  to 
me:     "Go  on  up!     'Tis  the  sixth  story." 


52  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

I  searched  my  pockets,  and,  finding  there  a  box 
of  vestas,  I  lighted  the  way  up  the  ascent.  He  fol- 
lowed me,  puffing  under  his  pack,  repeating: 

"Tis  high!  'tis  high!" 

When  we  were  at  the  top  of  the  house,  he  drew 
forth  from  one  of  his  inside  pockets  a  key  attached 
to  a  thread,  and  unlocking  his  door,  he  made  me 
enter. 

It  was  a  little  whitewashed  room,  with  a  table  in 
the  center,  six  chairs,  and  a  kitchen-cupboard  close  to 
the  wall. 

"1  am  going  to  wake  up  my  wife,"  he  said; 
"then  I  am  going  down  to  the  cellar  to  fetch  some 
wine;  it  doesn't  keep  here." 

He  approached  one  of  the  two  doors  which  opened 
out  of  this  apartment,  and  exclaimed: 

"Bluette!  Bluette!"  Bluette  did  not  reply.  He 
called  out  in  a  louder  tone:     "Bluette!  Bluette!" 

Then  knocking  at  the  partition  with  his  fist,  he 
growled:     "Will  you  wake  up  in  God's  name?" 

He  waited,  glued  his  ear  to  the  keyhole,  and 
muttered,  in  a  calmer  tone:  "Pooh!  if  she  is  asleep, 
she  must  be  let  sleep!  I'll  go  and  get  the  wine: 
wait  a  couple  of  minutes  for  me." 

He  disappeared.  I  sat  down  and  made  the  best 
of  it. 

What  had  I  come  to  this  place  for.^  All  of  a  sud- 
den, I  gave  a  start,  for  I  heard  people  talking  in  low 
tones,  and  m.oving  about  quietly,  almost  noiselessly, 
in  the  room  where  the  wife  slept. 

Deuce  take  it!  Had  I  fallen  into  some  cursed 
trap.^  Why  had  this  woman — this  Bluette  —  not 
been  awakened  by  the  loud  knocking  of  her  husband 


THE   PEDDLER  53 

at  the  doorway  leading  into  her  room  ?  Could  it 
have  been  merely  a  signal  conveying  to  accomplices: 
"There's  a  mouse  in  the  trap!  I'm  going  to  look 
out  to  prevent  him  escaping.  'Tis  for  you  to  do 
the  rest  I" 

Certainly  there  was  more  stir  than  before  now  in 
the  inner  room;  I  heard  the  door  opening  from 
within.  My  heart  throbbed.  I  retreated  toward  the 
further  end  of  the  apartment,  saying  to  myself,  "1 
must  make  a  fight  of  it!"  and,  catching  hold  of  the 
back  of  a  chair  with  both  hands,  I  prepared  for  a 
desperate  struggle. 

The  door  was  half-opened;  a  hand  appeared  which 
kept  it  ajar;  then  a  head,  a  man's  head  covered  with 
a  billycock  hat,  slipped  through  the  folding-doors,  and 
I  saw  two  eyes  staring  hard  at  me.  Then,  so  quickly 
that  I  had  not  time  to  make  a  single  movement  by 
way  of  defense,  the  individual,  the  supposed  criminal, 
a  tall  young  fellow  in  his  bare  feet  with  his  shoes  in 
his  hands,  a  good-looking  chap,  I  must  admit, —  half 
a  gentleman,  in  fact, —  made  a  dash  for  the  outer 
door,  and  rushed  down  the  stairs. 

1  resumed  my  seat.  The  adventure  was  assuming 
a  humorous  aspect,  and  I  waited  for  the  husband, 
who  took  a  long  time  fetching  the  wine.  At  last,  I 
heard  him  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  the  sound  of  his 
footsteps  made  me  laugh,  with  one  of  those  solitary 
laughs  which  it  is  hard  to  restrain. 

He  entered  with  two  bottles  in  his  hands.  Then 
he  asked  me: 

"Is  my  wife  still  asleep?  You  didn't  hear  her 
stirring,  did  you?" 

1  knew   instinctively  that   there  was  an  ear  pasted 


54'  ^ORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

against   the   other  side   of  the    partition-door,    and   I 
said:     "No,  not  at  all." 

And  now  he  again  called  out: 

"Pauline!" 

She  made  no  reply,  and  did  not  even  move. 

He  came  back  to  me,  and  explained: 

"You  see,  she  doesn't  like  me  to  come  home  at 
night,  and  take  a  drop  with  a  friend." 

"So  then  you  believe  she  was  not  asleep?" 

He  wore  an  air  of  dissatisfaction. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  he  said,  "let  us  have  a  drink 
together." 

And  immediately  he  showed  a  disposition  to  empty 
the  two  bottles  one  after  the  other  without  more  ado. 

This  time,  I  did  display  some  energy.  When  I 
had  swallowed  one  glass,  1  rose  up  to  leave.  He  no 
longer  spoke  of  accompanying  me,  and  with  a  sullen 
scowl,  the  scowl  of  a  common  man  in  an  angry  mood, 
the  scowl  of  a  brute  whose  violence  is  only  slumber- 
ing, in  the  direction  of  his  wife's  sleeping  apartment, 
he  muttered: 

"She'll  have  to  open  that  door  when  you've  gone." 

I  stared  at  this  poltroon,  who  had  worked  himself 
into  a  fit  of  rage  without  knowing  why,  perhaps 
owing  to  an  obscure  presentiment,  the  instinct  of  the 
deceived  male  who  does  not  like  closed  doors.  He 
had  talked  about  her  to  me  in  a  tender  strain;  now 
assuredly  he  was  going  to  beat  her. 

He  exclaimed,  as  he  shook  the  lock  once  more: 

"PauHne!" 

A  voice,  like  that  of  a  woman  waking  out  of  her 
sleep,  replied  from  behind  the  partition: 

"Eh!  what?" 


THE   PEDDLER  55 

"Didn't  you  hear  me  coming  in?" 

"No,  I  was  asleep!     Let  me  rest!" 

"Open  the  door!" 

"Yes,  when  you're  alone.  I  don't  like  you  to  be 
bringing  home  fellows  at  night  to  drink  with  you." 

Then  I  took  myself  off,  stumbling  down  the  stairs, 
as  the  other  man,  of  whom  I  had  been  the  accom- 
plice, had  done.  And,  as  I  resumed  my  journey 
toward  Paris,  I  realized  that  I  had  just  witnessed  in 
this  wretched  abode  a  scene  of  the  eternal  drama 
which  is  being  acted  every  day  under  every  form 
and  among  every  class. 


THE    UMBRELLA 


ME.  Oreille  was  a  very  economical 
woman;  she  thoroughly  knew  the 
value  of  a  half-penny,  and  pos- 
sessed a  whole  storehouse  of  strict 
principles  with  regard  to  the  multipli- 
cation of  money,  so  that  her  cook 
found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  making 
what  the  servants  call  their  "market- 
penny,"  while  her  husband  was  hardly 
v  21-8  allowed  any  pocket-money  at  all.  They 
^\*7"^  were,  however,  very  comfortably  off,  and 
had  no  children.  It  really  pained  Mme.  Oreille 
to  see  any  money  spent;  it  was  like  tearing  at 
her  heartstrings  when  she  had  to  take  any  of  those 
nice  crownpieces  out  of  her  pocket;  and  whenever 
she  had  to  spend  anything,  no  matter  how  necessary 
it  was,  she  slept  badly  the  next  night. 

Oreille  was  continually  saying  to  his  wife: 
"You   really   might   be   more   liberal,  as   we   have 
no  children  and  never  spend  our  income." 

"You  don't  know  what  may  happen,"  she  used 
to  reply.  "It  is  better  to  have  too  much  than  too 
little." 

(56) 


THE   UMBRELLA 


57 


She  was  a  little  woman  of  about  forty,  very 
active,  rather  hasty,  wrinkled,  very. neat  and  tidy,  and 
with  a  very  short  temper.  Her  husband  very  often 
used  to  complain  of  all  the  privations  she  made  him 
endure;  some  of  them  were  particularly  painful  to 
him,  as  they  touched  his  vanity. 

He  was  one  of  the  upper  clerks  in  the  War  Office, 
and  only  stayed  there  in  obedience  to  his  wife's  wish, 
so  as  to  increase  their  income,  which  they  did  not 
nearly  spend. 

For  two  years  he  had  always  come  to  the  office 
with  the  same  old  patched  umbrella,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  his  fellow-clerks.  At  last  he  got  tired 
of  their  jokes,  and  insisted  upon  his  wife  buying  him 
a  new  one.  She  bought  one  for  eight  francs  and 
a-half,  one  of  those  cheap  things  which  large  houses 
sell  as  an  advertisement.  When  the  others  in  the 
office  saw  the  article,  which  was  being  sold  in  Paris 
by  the  thousand,  they  began  their  jokes  again,  and 
Oreille  had  a  dreadful  time  of  it  with  them.  They 
even  made  a  song  about  it,  which  he  heard  from 
morning  till  night  all  over  the  immense  building. 

Oreille  was  very  angry,  and  peremptorily  told  his 
wife  to  get  him  a  new  one,  a  good  silk  one,  tor 
tv/enty  francs,  and  to  bring  him  the  bill,  so  that  he 
might  see  that  it  was  all  right. 

She  bought  him  one  for  eighteen  francs,  and  said, 
getting  red  with  anger  as  she  gave  it  to  her  husband: 

"This  will  last  you  for  five  years  at  least." 

Oreille  felt  quite  triumphant,  and  obtained  a  small 
ovation  at  the  office  with  his  new  acquisition.  When 
he  went  home  in  the  evening,  his  wife  said  to  him, 
looking  at  the  umbrella  uneasily: 


58  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"  You  should  not  leave  it  fastened  up  with  the 
elastic;  it  will  very  likely  cut  the  silk.  You  must 
take  care  of  it,  for  I  shall  not  buy  you  a  new  one  in 
a  hurry." 

She  took  it,  unfastened  it,  and  then  remained 
dumfounded  with  astonishment  and  rage.  In  the 
middle  of  the  silk  there  was  a  hole  as  big  as  a  six- 
penny-piece, as  if  made  with  the  end  of  a  cigar. 

"What  is  that?"  she  screamed. 

Her  husband  replied  quietly,  without  looking  at  it: 

"What  is  it?    What  do  you  mean?" 

She  was  choking  with  rage  and  could  hardly  get 
out  a  word. 

' '  You  —  you  —  have  burned  —  your  umbrella !  Why 
—  you  must  be  —  mad!  Do  you  wish  to  ruin  us  out- 
right?" 

He  turned  round  hastily,  as  if  frightened. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"I  say  that  you  have  burned  your  umbrella.  Just 
look  here  —  " 

And  rushing  at  him,  as  if  she  were  going  to  beat 
him,  she  violently  thrust  the  little  circular  burned  hole 
under  his  nose. 

He  was  so  utterly  struck  dumb  at  the  sight  of  it 
that  he  could  only  stammer  out: 

"What  —  what  is  it?  How  should  I  know?  I 
have  done  nothing,  I  will  swear.  I  don't  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  the  umbrella." 

"You  have  been  playing  tricks  with  it  at  the 
office;  you  have  been  playing  the  fool  and  opening 
it,  to  show  it  off!"  she  screamed. 

"I  only  opened  it  once,  to  let  them  see  what  a 
.nice  one  it  was,  that  is  all,  I  declare.." 


THE    UMBRELLA  59 

But  she  shook  with  rage,  and  got  up  one  of  those 
conjugal  scenes  which  make  a  peaceable  man  dread 
the  domestic  hearth  more  than  a  battlefield  where 
bullets  are  raining. 

She  mended  it  with  a  piece  of  silk  cut  out  of  the 
old  umbrella,  which  was  of  a  different  color,  and  the 
next  day  Oreille  went  off  very  humbly  with  the  mended 
article  in  his  hand.  He  put  it  into  a  cupboard,  and 
thought  no  more  of  it  than  of  some  unpleasant  recol- 
lection. 

But  he  had  scarcely  got  home  that  evening  when 
his  wife  took  the  umbrella  from  him,  opened  it,  and 
nearly  had  a  fit  when  she  saw  what  had  befallen  it, 
for  the  disaster  was  now  irreparable.  It  was  covered 
with  small  holes,  which  evidently,  proceeded  from 
burns,  just  as  if  some  one  had  emptied  the  ashes  from 
a  lighted  pipe  on  to  it.  It  was  done  for  utterly,  irrep- 
arably. 

She  looked  at  it  without  a  word,  in  too  great  a 
passion  to  be  able  to  say  anything.  He  also,  when 
he  saw  the  damage,  remained  almost  dumb,  in  a 
state  of  frightened   consternation. 

They  looked  at  each  other;  then  he  looked  on  to 
the  floor.  The  next  moment  she  threw  the  useless 
article  at  his  head,  screaming  out  in  a  transport  of 
the  most  violent  rage,  for  she  had  now  recovered  her 
voice: 

"Oh!  you  brute!  you  brute!  You  did  it  on  pur- 
pose, but  1  will  pay  you  out  for  it.  You  shall  not 
have  another." 

And  then  the  scene  began  again.  After  the  storm 
had  raged  for  an  hour,  he,  at  last,  was  enabled  to  ex- 
plain himself.     He  declared  that   he   could  not  under- 


6o  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

Stand  it  at  all,  and  that  it  could  only  proceed  from 
malice  or  from  vengeance, 

A  ring  at  the  bell  saved  him;  it  was  a  friend  whom 
they  were  expecting  to  dinner. 

Mme.  Oreille  submitted  the  case  to  him.  As  for 
buying  a  new  umbrella,  that  was  out  of  the  question; 
her  husband  should  not  have  another.  The  friend 
very  sensibly  said  that  in  that  case  his  clothes  would 
be  spoiled,  and  they  were  certainly  worth  more  than 
the  umbrella.  But  the  little  woman,  who  was  still  in 
a  rage,  replied: 

"Very  well,  then,  when  it  rains  he  may  have  the 
kitchen  umbrella,  for  I  will  not  give  him  a  new  silk 
one." 

Oreille  utterly  rebelled  at  such  an  idea. 

"All  right,"  he  said;  "then  1  shall  resign  my  post. 
I  am  not  going  to  the  office  with  the  kitchen  um- 
brella." 

The  friend  interposed: 

"Have  this  one  recovered;  it  will  not  cost  much." 

But  Mme.  Oreille,  being  in  the  temper  that  she 
was,  said: 

"It  will  cost  at  least  eight  francs  to  recover  it. 
Eight  and  eighteen  are  twenty-six.  Just  fancy,  twenty- 
six   francs   for    an   umbrella!      It   is    utter  madness!" 

The  friend,  who  was  only  a  poor  man  of  the  mid- 
dle classes,  had  an  inspiration: 

"Make  your  fire  insurance  pay  for  it.  The  com- 
panies pay  for  all  articles  that  are  burned,  as  long  as 
the  damage  has  been  done  in  your  own  house." 

On  hearing  this  advice  the  little  woman  calmed 
down  immediately,  and  then,  after  a  moment's  re- 
flection, she  said  to  her  husband: 


THE    UMBRELLA  6l 

"To-morrow,  before  going  to  your  office,  you  will 
go  to  the  Maternelle  Insurance  Company,  show  them 
the  state  your  umbrella  is  in,  and  make  them  pay  for 
the  damage." 

M.  Oreille  fairly  jumped,  he  was  so  startled  at  the 
proposal. 

"I  would  not  do  it  for  my  life!  It  is  eighteen 
francs  lost,  that  is  all.     It  will  not  ruin  us." 

The  next  morning  he  took  a  walking-stick  when 
he  went  out,  for,  luckily,  it  was  a  fine  day. 

Left  at  home  alone,  Mme.  Oreille  could  not  get 
over  the  loss  of  her  eighteen  francs  by  any  means. 
She  had  put  the  umbrella  on  the  dining-room  table, 
and  she  looked  at  it  without  being  able  to  come  to 
any  determination. 

Every  moment  she  thought  of  the  insurance  com- 
pany, but  she  did  not  dare  to  encounter  the  quizzical 
looks  of  the  gentlemen  who  might  receive  her,  for 
she  was  very  timid  before  people,  and  grew  red  at  a 
mere  nothing,  feeling  embarrassed  when  she  had  to 
speak  to  strangers. 

But  regret  at  the  loss  of  the  eighteen  francs  pained 
her  as  if  she  had  been  wounded.  She  tried  not  to 
think  of  it  any  more,  and  yet  every  moment  the  rec- 
ollection of  the  loss  struck  her  painfully.  What  was 
she  to  do,  however.^  Time  went  on,  and  she  could 
not  decide;  but  suddenly,  like  all  cowards,  she  made 
up  her  mind. 

"I  will  go,  and  we  will  see  what  will  happen." 

But  first  of  all  she  was  obliged  to  prepare  the 
umbrella  so  that  the  disaster  might  be  complete,  and 
the  reason  of  it  quite  evident.  She  took  a  match  from 
the  mantelpiece,  and   between   the  ribs  she  burned  a 


(,2  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

hole  as  big  as  the  palm  of  her  hand.  Then  she  rolled 
it  up  carefully,  fastened  it  with  the  elastic  band,  put 
on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  went  quickly  toward 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  where  the  insurance  office  was. 

But  the  nearer  she  got  the  slower  she  walked.  What 
was  she  going  to  say,  and  what  reply  would  she  get? 

She  looked  at  the  numbers  of  the  houses;  there 
were  still  twenty-eight.  That  was  all  right,  she  had 
time  to  consider,  and  she  walked  slower  and  slower. 
Suddenly  she  saw  a  door  on  which  was  a  large  brass 
plate  with  "La  Maternelle  Fire  Insurance  Office"  en- 
graved on  it.  Already!  She  waited  for  a  moment, 
for  she  felt  nervous  and  almost  ashamed;  then  she 
went  past,  came  back,  went  past  again,  and  came 
back  again. 

At  last  she  said  to  herself: 

"1  must  go  in,  however,  so  I  may  as  well  do  it 
now  as  later." 

She  could  not  help  noticing,  however,  how  her 
heart  beat  as  she  entered.  She  went  into  an  enor- 
mous room  with  grated  wicket  openings  all  round, 
and  a  man  behind  each  of  them,  and  as  a  gentleman, 
carrying  a  number  of  papers,  passed  her,  she  stopped 
him  and  said,  timidly: 

"1  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur,  but  can  you  tell 
me  where  I  must  apply  for  payment  for  anything  that 
has  been  accidentally  burned.?" 

He  replied  in  a  sonorous  voice: 

" The  first  door  on  the  left;  that  is  the  department 
you  want." 

This  frightened  her  still  more,  and  she  felt  inclined 
to  run  away,  to  make  no  claim,  to  sacrifice  her  eight- 
een francs.     But  the   idea   of  that  sum   revived   her 


THE    UMBRELLA  63 

courage,  and  she  went  upstairs,  out   of  breath,   stop- 
ping at  ahnost  every  other  step. 

She  knocked  at  a  door  which  she  saw  on  the 
first  landing,  and  a  clear  voice  said,  in  answer: 

"Come  in!" 

She  obeyed  mechanically,  and  found  herself  in  a 
large  room  where  three  solemn  gentlemen,  each  with 
a  decoration  in  his  buttonhole,  were  standing  talking. 

One  of  them  asked  her:  "What  do  you  want, 
Madame.^" 

She  could  hardly  get  out  her  words,  but  stam- 
mered: "1  have  come  —  I  have  come  on  account  of 
an  accident,  something — " 

He  very  politely  pointed  out  a  seat  to  her. 

"If  you  will  kindly  sit  down  I  will  attend  to  you 
in  a  moment." 

And,  returning  to  the  other  two,  he  went  on  with 
the  conversation. 

"The  company,  gentlemen,  does  not  consider 
that  it  is  under  any  obligation  to  you  for  more  than 
four  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  we  can  pay  no  at- 
tention to  your  claim  to  the  further  sum  of  a  hundred 
thousand,  which  you  wish  to  make  us  pay.  Besides 
that,  the  surveyor's  valuation  — " 

One  of  the  others  interrupted  him: 

"That  is  quite  enough,  Monsieur;  the  law-courts 
will  decide  between  us,  and  we  have  nothing  further 
to  do  than  to  take  our  leave."  And  they  went  out 
after  mutual  ceremonious  bows. 

Oh!  if  she  could  only  have  gone  away  with  them, 
how  gladly  she  would  have  done  it;  she  would  have 
run  away  and  given  up  everything.  But  it  was  too 
late,  for  the  gentleman  came  back,  and  said,  bowing: 


64  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Madame?" 

She  could  scarcely  speak,  but  at  last  she  managed 
to  say: 

"I  have  come  —  for  this." 

The  manager  looked  at  the  object  which  she  held 
out  to  him  in  mute  astonishment.  With  trembling 
fingers  she  tried  to  undo  the  elastic,  and  succeeded, 
after  several  attempts,  and  hastily  opened  the  dam- 
aged remains  of  the  umbrella. 

"It  looks  to  me  to  be  in  a  very  bad  state  of 
health,"  he  said,  compassionately. 

"It  cost  me  twenty  francs,"  she  said,  with  some 
hesitation. 

He  seemed  astonished.  "Really!  As  much  as 
that?" 

"Yes,  it  was  a  capital  article,  and  I  wanted  you 
to  see  the  state  it  is  in." 

"Very  well,  1  see;  very  well.  But  I  really  do  not 
understand  what  it  can  have  to  do  with  me." 

She  began  to  feel  uncomfortable;  perhaps  this 
company  did  not  pay  for  such  small  articles,  and  she 
said: 

"But  — it  is  burned." 

He  could  not  deny  it. 

"1  see  that  very  well,"  he  replied. 

She  remained  open-mouthed,  not  knowing  what 
to  say  next;  then  suddenly  forgetting  that  she  had 
left  out  the  main  thing,  she  said  hastily: 

"I  am  Mme.  Oreille;  we  are  assured  in  La 
Maternelle,  and  I  have  come  to  claim  the  value  of 
this  damage.  I  only  want  you  to  have  it  recovered," 
she  added  quickly,  fearing  a  positive  refusal. 

The  manager  was  rather  embarrassed,  and  said; 


THE   UMBRELLA 


65 


"But,  really,  Madame,  we  do  not  sell  umbrellas; 
we  cannot  undertake  such  kinds  of  repairs." 

The  little  woman  felt  her  courage  reviving;  she 
was  not  going  to  give  up  without  a  struggle;  she 
was  not  even  afraid  now,  so  she  said: 

"I  only  want  you  to  pay  me  the  cost  of  repairing 
it;  I  can  quite  well  get  it  done  myself." 

The  gentleman  seemed  rather  confused. 

"Really,  Madame,  it  is  such  a  very  small  matter! 
We  are  never  asked  to  give  compensation  for  such 
trivial  losses.  You  must  allow  that  we  cannot  make 
good  pocket-handkerchiefs,  gloves,  brooms,  slippers, 
all  the  small  articles  which  are  every  day  exposed  to 
the  chances  of  being  burned," 

She  got  red,  and  felt  inclined  to  fly  into  a  rage. 

"But,  Monsieur,  last  December  one  of  our 
chimneys  caught  fire,  and  caused  at  least  five  hun- 
dred francs'  damage.  M.  Oreille  made  no  claim  on 
the  company,  and  so  it  is  only  just  that  it  should 
pay  for  my  umbrella  now." 

The  manager,  guessing  that  she  was  telling  a  lie, 
said,  with  a  smile: 

"You  must  acknowledge,  Madame,  that  it  is  very 
surprising  that  M.  Oreille  should  have  asked  no  com- 
pensation for  damages  amounting  to  five  hundred 
francs,  and  should  now  claim  five  or  six  francs  for 
mending   an   umbrella." 

She  was  not  the  least  put  out,  and  replied: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur,  the  five  hundred 
francs  affected  M.  Oreille's  pocket,  whereas  this  dam- 
age, amounting  to  eighteen  francs,  concerns  Mme. 
Oreille's  pocket  only,  which  is  a  totally  different 
matter." 

5     G.  de  M.— 5 


66  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

As  he  saw  that  he  had  no  chance  of  getting  rid 
of  her,  and  that  he  would  only  be  wasting  his  time, 
he  said,  resignedly: 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  the  damage  was 
done?" 

She  felt  that  she  had   won   the   victory,  and   said: 

"This  is  how  it  happened,  Monsieur:  In  our  hall 
there  is  a  bronze  stick-  and  umbrella-stand,  and  the 
other  day,  when  I  came  in,  I  put  my  umbrella  into 
it.  I  must  tell  you  that  just  above  there  is  a  shelf 
for  the  candlesticks  and  matches.  I  put  out  my 
hand,  took  three  or  four  matches,  and  struck  one, 
but  it  missed  fire,  so  I  struck  another,  which  ig- 
nited, but  went  out  immediately,  and  a  third  did  the 
same." 

The   manager  interrupted   her,  to  make  a  joke. 

"  I  suppose  they  were  Government  matches, 
then?" 

She  did  not  understand  him,  and  went  on: 

"Very  likely.  At  any  rate,  the  fourth  caught  fire, 
and  I  lit  my  candle,  and  went  into  my  room  to  go 
to  bed;  but  in  a  quarter-of-an-hour  I  fancied  that  I 
smelled  something  burning,  and  I  have  always  been 
terribly  afraid  of  fire.  If  ever  we  have  an  accident  it 
will  not  be  my  fault,  I  assure  you.  I  am  terribly 
nervous  since  our  chimney  was  on  fire,  as  I  told  you; 
so  I  got  up,  and  hunted  about  everywhere,  sniffmg 
like  a  dog  after  game,  and  at  last  1  noticed  that  my 
umbrella  was  burning.  Most  likely  a  match  had 
fallen  between  the  folds  and  burned  it.  You  can  see 
how  it  has  damaged  it." 

The  manager  had  taken   his   clue,  and   asked   her: 

"What  do  you  estimate  the  damage  at?" 


THE    UMBRELLA 


67 


She  did  not  know  what  to  say,  as  she  was  not 
certain  what  amount  to  put  on  it,  but  at  last  she  re- 
plied: 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  get  it  done  yourself.  I 
will  leave  it  to  you." 

He,  however,  naturally  refused. 

"No,  Madame,  1  cannot  do  that.  Tell  me  the 
amount  of  your  claim,  that  is  all  I  want  to  know." 

"Well!  —  1  think  that —  Look  here.  Monsieur,  I  do 
not  want  to  make  any  money  out  of  you,  so  I  will 
tell  you  what  we  will  do.  1  will  take  my  umbrella  to 
the  maker,  who  will  recover  it  in  good,  durable  silk, 
and  I  will  bring  the  bill  to  you.  Will  that  suit  you, 
Monsieur.^" 

"Perfectly,  Madame;  we  will  settle  it  on  that 
basis.  Here  is  a  note  for  the  cashier,  who  will  repay 
you  whatever  it  costs  you." 

He  gave  Mme.  Oreille  a  slip  of  paper.  She  took 
it,  got  up,  and  went  out,  thanking  him,  for  she  was 
in  a  hurry  to  escape  lest  he  should  change  his  mind. 

She  went  briskly  through  the  streets,  looking  out 
for  a  really  good  umbrella-maker,  and  when  she 
found  a  shop  which  appeared  to  be  a  first-class  one, 
she  went  in,  and  said,  confidently: 

"1  want  this  umbrella  recovered  in  silk,  good 
silk.  Use  the  very  best  and  strongest  you  have;  I 
don't  mind  what  it  costs." 


THE    QJUESTION    OF    LATIN 


HIS  question  of  Latin,  with  which  we 
were  so  much  bothered  some  time 
since,  recalls  to  my  mind  a  story  — 
a  story  of  my  youth. 

I   was   finishing    my  studies   with   a 

teacher,  in  a  big  central  town,    at    the 

Institution  Robineau,  celebrated  through 

the  entire  province  owing  to  the   special 

attention  paid  there  to  Latin  studies. 

For  the  past  ten  years,  the  Institution 
Robineau  beat  at  every  competitive  examina- 
ion  the  Imperial  "lycee"  of  the  town,  and 
all  the  colleges  of  the  Subprefecture;  and  these 
constant  successes  were  due,  they  said,  to  an 
usher,  a  simple  usher,  M.  Piquedent,  or  rather  Pere 
Piquedent. 

He  was  one  of  those  middle-aged  men,  quite  gray, 
whose  real  age  it  is  impossible  to  know,  and  whose 
history  we  can  guess  at  a  first  glance.  Having  en- 
tered as  an  usher  at  twenty  into  the  first  institution 
that  presented  itself  so  that  he  could  proceed  to  take 
out  his  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  first,  and  afterwtird 
the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws,  he   found    himself  so 

(68) 


THE  QUESTION   OF   LATIN  69 

much  enmeshed  in  this  sinister  life  that  he  remained 
an  usher  all  his  life.  But  his  love  for  Latin  did  not 
leave  him,  but  harassed  him  like  an  unhealthy  passion. 
He  continued  to  read  the  poets,  the  prose-writers,  the 
historians,  to  interpret  them,  to  study  their  meaning, 
to  comment  on  them  with  a  perseverance  bordering 
on  madness. 

One  day,  the  idea  came  into  his  head  to  force  all 
the  students  of  his  class  to  answer  him  in  Latin  only; 
and  he  persisted  in  this  resolution  until  at  last  they 
were  capable  of  sustaining  an  entire  conversation  with 
him  just  as  they  would  in  their  mother-tongue.  He 
listened  to  them,  as  a  leader  of  an  orchestra  listens  to 
his  musicians  rehearsing,  and,  striking  his  desk  every 
moment  with  his  ruler,  he  exclaimed: 

"Monsieur  Lefrere,  Monsieur  Lefrere,  you  are  com- 
mitting a  solecism!  You  are  not  recalling  the  rule  to 
mind. 

"Monsieur  Plantel,  your  turn  of  phrase  is  alto- 
gether French  and  in  no  way  Latin.  You  must 
understand  the  genius  of  a  language.  Look  here,  lis- 
ten to  me." 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  pupils  of  the  Insti' 
tution  Robineau  carried  off,  at  the  end  of  the  year, 
all  the  prizes  for  composition,  translation,  and  Latin 
conversation. 

Next  year,  the  principal,  a  little  man,  as  cunning 
as  an  ape,  and  with  the  same  grinning  and  grotesque 
physique,  got  printed  on  his  programmes,  on  his 
advertisements,  and  painted  on  the  door  of  his  insti- 
tution: 

"Latin  Studies  a  Speciality.  Five  first  prizes  car- 
ried off  in  the  five  classes  of  the  lycee. 


70 


WORKS  OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


"Two  prizes  of  honor  at  the  general  Competitive 
Examinations  with  all  the  lycees  and  colleges  of 
France." 

For  ten  years  the  Institution  Robineau  triumphed 
in  the  same  fashion.  Now,  my  father,  allured  by 
these  successes,  sent  me  as  a  day-pupil  to  Robineau's 
—  or,  as  we  called  it,  Robinetto  or  Robinettino  —  and 
made  me  take  special  private  lessons  from  Pere 
Piquedent  at  the  rate  of  five  francs  per  hour,  out  of 
which  the  usher  got  two  francs  and  the  principal 
three  francs.  I  was  at  the  time  in  my  eighteenth 
year,  and  was  in  the  philosophy  class. 

These  private  lessons  were  given  in  a  little  room 
looking  out  on  the  street.  It  so  happened  that  Pere 
Piquedent,  instead  of  talking  Latin  to  me,  as  he  did 
when  teaching  publicly  in  the  Institution,  kept  telling 
about  his  troubles  in  French.  Without  relations, 
without  friends,  the  poor  man  conceived  an  attach- 
ment for  me,  and  poured  out  into  my  heart  his  own 
misery. 

He  had  never  for  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years 
chatted  confidentially  with  anyone. 

"I  am  like  an  oak  in  a  desert,"  he  said — " stcut 
quercus  in  solitiidine.'' 

The  other  ushers  disgusted  him.  He  knew  nobody 
in  the  town  since  he  had  no  liberty  for  the  purpose 
of  making  acquaintances. 

"Not  even  the  nights,  my  friend,  and  that  is  the 
hardest  thing  on  me.  The  dream  of  my  life  is  to 
have  a  room  of  my  own  with  furniture,  my  own 
books,  little  things  that  belonged  to  myself  and  which 
others  could  not  touch.  And  I  have  nothing  of  my 
own,    nothing    except    my   shirt   and   my   frock-coat, 


THE   QUESTION   OF   LATIN  7I 

nothing,  not  even  my  mattress  and  my  pillow!  I 
have  not  four  walls  to  shut  myself  up  in,  except 
when  I  come  to  give  a  lesson  in  this  room.  Do  you 
see  what  this  means  —  a  man  forced  to  spend  his  hfe 
without  ever  having  the  right,  without  ever  finding 
the  time  to  shut  himself  up  all  alone,  no  matter 
where,  to  think,  to  reflect,  to  work,  to  dream?  Ahl 
my  dear  boy,  a  key,  the  key  of  a  door  which  one 
can  open  —  this  is  happiness,  mark  you,  the  only 
happiness! 

"Here,  all  day  long,  the  study  with  all  those  dirty 
brats  jumping  about  in  it,  and  during  the  night  the 
dormitory  with  the  same  dirty  brats  snoring.  And  I 
have  to  sleep  in  the  public  bed  at  the  end  of  two 
rows  of  beds  occupied  by  these  brats  whom  I  must 
look  after.  I  can  never  be  alone,  never!  If  I  go  out, 
1  find  the  street  full  of  people,  and,  when  I  am  tired 
of  walking,  1  go  into  some  caf6  crowded  with 
smokers  and  billiard  players.  I  tell  you  that  it  is  a 
regular  prison." 

I  asked  him: 

"Why  did  you  not  take  up  some  other  line.  Mon- 
sieur Piquedent?" 

He  exclaimed: 

"What,  my  little  friend?  I  am  not  a  bootmaker 
or  a  joiner  or  a  hatter  or  a  baker  or  a  hairdresser.  1 
only  know  Latin,  and  I  have  not  the  diploma  which 
would  enable  me  to  sell  my  knowledge  at  a  high 
price.  If  I  were  a  doctor,  I  would  sell  for  a  hundred 
francs  what  1  now  sell  for  a  hundred  sous;  and  1 
would  supply  it  probably  of  an  inferior  quality,  for 
my  academic  rank  would  be  enough  to  sustain  my 
reputation." 


72 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


Sometimes,  he  would  say  to  me: 

"I  have  no  rest  in  life  except  in  the  hours  spent 
with  you.  Don't  be  afraid  1  you'll  lose  nothing  by 
that.  I'll  make  it  up  to  you  in  the  study  by  teaching 
you  to  speak  twice  as  much  Latin  as  the  others." 

One  day,  I  grew  bolder  and  offered  him  a  ciga- 
rette. He  stared  at  me  with  astonishment  at  first, 
then  he  gave  a  glance  toward  the  door: 

*'lf  anyone  were  to  come  in,  my  dear  boy!" 

"Well,  let  us  smoke  at  the  window,"  said  I. 

And  we  went  and  leaned  with  our  elbows  on  the 
window-sill  facing  the  street,  keeping  our  hands  over 
the  Ijttle  rolls  of  tobacco  wrapped  up  in  tissue-paper 
so  that  they  concealed  them  from  view  like  a  shell. 
Just  opposite  to  us  was  a  laundry.  Four  women  in 
white  bodices  were  passing  over  the  linen  spread  out 
before  them  the  heavy  and  hot  irons,  letting  a  damp 
fume  escape  from  them. 

Suddenly,  another,  a  fifth  carrying  on  her  arm  a 
large  basket  which  made  her  back  stoop,  came  out 
to  bring  the  customers  their  shirts  and  chemises,  their 
handkerchiefs  and  their  sheets.  She  stopped  on  the 
threshold  as  if  she  were  already  fatigued;  then,  she 
raised  her  eyes,  smiled  when  she  saw  us  smoking, 
flung  at  us,  with  her  left  hand,  which  was  free,  the 
sly  kiss  characteristic  of  a  free-and-easy  working- 
woman;  and  she  went  away  at  a  slow  pace  dragging 
her  shoes  after  her. 

She  was  a  damsel  of  about  twenty,  small,  rather 
thin,  pale,  rather  pretty,  with  the  manners  of  a  street- 
wench,  and  eyes  laughing  under  her  ill-combed  fair 
hair. 

Pere  Piquedent,  affected,  began  murmuring: 


THE  QUESTION   OF   LATIN  73 

"What  an  occupation  for  a  woman.  Really  a  trade 
only  fit  for  a  horse." 

And  he  spoke  with  emotion  about  the  misery  of 
the  people.  He  had  a  heart  which  swelled  with  lofty 
democratic  sentiment,  and  he  referred  to  the  fatiguing 
pursuits  of  the  working  class  with  phrases  borrowed 
from  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau  and  with  sobs  in  his 
throat. 

Next  day,  as  we  were  resting  our  elbows  at  the 
same  window,  the  same  workwoman  perceived  us, 
and  cried  out  to  us: 

"Good  day,  my  scholars!"  in  a  comical  sort  of 
tone,  while  she  made  a  contemptuous  gesture  with 
her  hands. 

I  flung  her  a  cigarette,  which  she  immediately 
began  to  smoke.  And  the  four  other  ironers  rushed 
out  to  the  door  with  outstretched  hands  to  get  ciga- 
rettes  also. 

And,  each  day,  a  friendly  relationship  was  being 
formed  between  the  working-women  of  the  pavement 
and  the  idlers  of  the  boarding-school. 

Pere  Piquedent  was  really  a  comic  sight  to  look 
at.  He  trembled  at  being  noticed,  for  he  might  have 
lost  his  place;  and  he  made  timid  and  ridiculous 
gestures,  quite  a  theatrical  display  of  amorousness,  to 
which  the  women  responded  with  a  regular  fusillade 
of  kisses. 

A  perfidious  idea  sprang  up  in  my  head.  One 
day,  on  entering  our  room,  I  said  to  the  old  usher 
in  a  low  tone; 

"You  would  not  believe  it,  Monsieur  Piquedent,  I 
met  the  little  washerwoman!  You  know  the  one — the 
woman  who  had  the  basket  —  and  1  spoke  to  herl" 


74 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


He  asked,  rather  excited  by  the  tone  I  had  taken: 

"What  did  she  say  to  you?" 

"She  said  to  me  —  goodness  gracious!  —  she  said 
she  thought  you  were  very  nice.  The  fact  of  the 
matter  is,  I  believe  —  I  believe  —  that  she  is  a  little  in 
love  with  you."  1  saw  that  he  was  growing  pale. 
He  exclaimed: 

"She  is  laughing  at  me,  of  course.  These  things 
don't  happen  at  my  age." 

1  said  gravely: 

"How  is  that?    You  are  very  nice." 

As  I  felt  that  my  trick  had  produced  its  effect  on 
him,  I  did  not  press  the  matter. 

But  every  day  1  pretended  that  I  had  met  the  little 
laundress  and  that  I  had  spoken  to  her  about  him,  so 
that  in  the  end  he  believed  me,  and  sent  her  ardent 
and  earnest  kisses. 

Now,  it  happened  that,  one  morning,  on  my  way 
to  the  boarding-school,  I  really  came  across  her.  I 
accosted  her  without  hesitation,  as  if  I  had  known 
her  for  the  last  ten  years. 

"Good  day.  Mademoiselle.     Are  you  quite  well?" 

"Very  well,  Monsieur,  thank  you." 

"Will  you  have  a  cigarette?" 

"Oh!  not  in  the  street." 

"You  can  smoke  it  at  home." 

"In  that  case,  I  will." 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Mademoiselle,  there's  something 
you  don't  know." 

"What  is  that,  Monsieur?" 

"The  old  gentleman  —  my  old  professor,  * 
mean  —  " 

"  Pere  Piquedent." 


THE  QUESTION   OF  LATIN  75 

"Yes,  Pere  Piquedent.     So  you  know  his  name?" 

''Faith,  I  do!    What  of  that?" 

"Well,  he  is  in  love  with  you!" 

She  burst  out  laughing  like  a  crazy  woman  and 
exclaimed: 

"This  is  only  humbug!" 

"Oh!  no,  'tis  no  humbug!  He  keeps  talking  of 
you  all  the  time  he  is  giving  lessons.  I  bet  that  he'll 
marry  you!" 

She  ceased  laughing.  The  idea  of  marriage  makes 
every  girl  serious.  Then,  she  repeated,  with  an  in- 
credulous air: 

"This  is  humbug!  " 

"I  swear  to  you  'tis  true.' 

She  picked  up  her  basket  which  she  had  laid 
down  at  her  feet. 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  she  said.     And  she  went  away. 

Presently,  when  I  had  reached  the  boarding-school, 
I  took  Pere  Piquedent  aside,  and  said: 

"You  must  write  to  her:  she  is  mad  about  you." 

And  he  wrote  a  long  letter  of  a  soft  and  affec- 
tionate character  full  of  phrases  and  circumlocutions, 
metaphors  and  similes,  philosophy  and  academic  gal- 
lantry; and  1  took  on  myself  the  responsibility  of  de- 
livering it  to  the  young  woman. 

She  read  it  with  gravity,  with  emotion;  then,  she 
murmured: 

"How  well  he  writes!  It  is  easy  to  see  he  has 
got  education!     Does  he   really  mean  to  marry  me?" 

1  replied  intrepidly:  "Faith,  he  has  lost  his  head 
about  you!" 

"Then  he  must  invite  me  to  dinner  on  Sunday  at 
the  lie  des  Fleurs." 


^6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

I  promised  that  she  would  be  invited^ 

Pere  Piquedent  was  much  touched  by  everything 
I  told  him  about  her. 

I  added: 

"She  loves  you,  Monsieur  Piquedent,  and  I  believe 
her  to  be  a  decent  girl.  It  is  not  right  to  seduce  her 
and  then  abandon  her." 

He  replied  in  a  firm  tone: 

"I  hope  I,  too,  am  a  decent  man,  my  friend." 

I  confess  I  had  at  the  time  no  plan.  I  was  play- 
ing a  practical  joke,  a  schoolboy's  practical  joke,  noth- 
ing more.  I  had  been  aware  of  the  simplicity  of 
the  old  usher,  his  innocence,  and  his  weakness.  I 
amused  myself  without  asking  myself  how  it  would 
turn  out.  1  was  eighteen,  and  had  been  for  a  long 
time  looked  upon  at  the  lycee  as  a  knowing  practi- 
cal joker. 

So,  it  was  agreed  that  Pere  Piquedent  and  1  should 
set  out  in  a  hackney=coach  for  the  ferry  of  Queue  de 
Vache,  that  we  should  there  pick  up  Angele,  and 
that  I  should  get  them  to  come  into  my  boat,  for  at 
this  time  I  was  fond  of  boating.  I  would  then  bring 
them  to  the  lie  de  Pleura,  where  the  three  of  us 
would  dine.  1  had  made  it  my  business  to  be  pres- 
ent, in  order  the  better  to  enjoy  my  triumph,  and  the 
usher,  consenting  to  my  arrangement,  proved  clearly, 
in  fact,  that  he  had  lost  his  head  by  thus  risking  his 
post. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  ferry  where  my  boat  had 
been  moored  since  morning,  I  saw  in  the  grass,  or 
rather  above  the  tall  weeds  of  the  bank,  an  enormous 
red  parasol,  resembling  a  monstrous  wild  poppy. 
Under  the  parasol  waited   the   little   laundress   in   her 


THE  QUESTION  OF  LATIN  -jy 

Sunday  clothes.  I  was  surprised.  She  was  really 
nice-looking,  though  pale,  and  graceful,  though  with 
a  suburban  gracefulness. 

Pere  Piquedent  raised  his  hat  and  bowed.  She 
put  out  her  hand  toward  him  and  they  stared  at  one 
another  without  uttering  a  word.  Then  they  stepped 
into  my  boat  and  I  took  the  oars. 

They  were  seated  side  by  side  on  the  seat  near 
the  stern.     The  usher  was  the  first  to  speak: 

"This  is  nice  weather  for  a  row  in  a  boat." 

She  murmured:     "Oh!  yes." 

She  drew  her  hand  through  the  current,  skimming 
the  water  with  her  fingers,  which  raised  up  a  thin 
transparent  little  stream  like  a  sheet  of  glass.  It  made 
a  light  sound,  a  gentle  ripple,  as  the  boat  moved  along. 

When  they  were  in  the  restaurant,  she  took  it  on 
herself  to  speak,  and  ordered  dinner  —  fried  fish,  a 
chicken,  and  salad;  then,  she  led  us  on  toward  the 
isle,  which  she  knew  perfectly. 

After  this,  she  was  gay,  romping,  and  even  rather 
mocking. 

Up  to  the  dessert,  no  question  of  love  arose.  I  had 
treated  them  to  champagne  and  Pere  Piquedent  was 
tipsy.     Herself  slightly  elevated,  she  called  out  to  him: 

"Monsieur  Piquenez." 

He  said  all  of  a  sudden: 

"Mademoiselle,  Monsieur  Raoul  has  communicated 
my  sentiments  to  you." 

She  became  as  serious  as  a  judge: 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"Are  you  going  to  give  any  answer?" 

"We  never  reply  to  these  questions!" 

He  panted  with  emotion,  and  went  on: 


^8  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"After  all,  a  day  will  come  when  1  may  make 
you  like  me." 

She  smiled:    "You  big  fool!    You  are  very  nice." 

"In  short,  Mademoiselle,  do  you  think  that,  later 
on,  we  might  —  " 

She  hesitated  a  second;  then  in  a  trembling  voice 
she  said: 

"Is  it  in  order  to  marry  me  you  say  that?  For 
never  otherwise,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle ! " 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  Monsieur  Piquedent!" 

It  is  thus  that  these  two  silly  creatures  promised 
marriage  to  each  other  through  the  wiles  of  a  reck- 
less schoolboy.  But  1  did  not  believe  that  it  was 
serious,  nor  indeed  did  they  themselves,  perhaps. 

On  her  part  there  was  a  certain  feeling  of  hesita- 
tion: 

"You  know,  I  have  nothing  —  not  four  sous." 

He  stammered,  for  he  was  as  drunk  as  Silenus: 

"I  have  saved  five  thousand  francs." 

She  exclaimed  triumphantly: 

"Then  we  can  set  up  in  business!" 

He  became  restless:  "In  what  business?" 

"What  do  1  know  about  that?  We  shall  see. 
With  five  thousand  francs,  we  could  do  many  things. 
You  don't  want  me  to  go  and  live  in  your  boarding- 
school,  do  you?" 

He  had  not  looked  forward  so  far  as  this,  and  he 
stammered  in  great  perplexity: 

"What  business  could  we  set  up  in?  It  is  not 
convenient,  for  all  1  know  is  Latin!" 

She  reflected  in  her  turn,  passing  in  review  all  the 
professions  which  she  had  longed  for. 


THE   QUESTION   OF   LATIN  yn 

"You  could  not  be  a  doctor?" 

"No,  I  have  not  the  diploma." 

"Or  a  chemist?" 

"No  more  than  the  other." 

She  uttered  a  cry,  a  cry  of  joy.  She  had  discov- 
ered it. 

"Then  we'll  buy  a  grocer's  shop!  Oh!  what  luck! 
we'll  buy  a  grocer's  shop!  Not  on  a  big  scale,  all  the 
same;   with  five  thousand  francs  one  cannot  go  far." 

He  was  shocked  at  the  suggestion: 

"No,  I  can't  be  a  grocer.  1  am  —  I  am  —  too  well 
known.     1  only  know  Latin  —  that's  all  1  know." 

But  she  poured  a  glass  of  champagne  down  his 
throat.     He  drank  it  and  was  silent. 

We  got  back  into  the  boat.  The  night  was  dark, 
very  dark.  I  saw  clearly,  however,  that  he  had 
caught  her  by  the  waist,  and  that  they  were  hugging 
each  other  again  and  again. 

It  was  a  frightful  catastrophe.  Our  escapade  was 
discovered  with  the  result  that  Pere  Piquedent  was 
dismissed.  And  my  father,  in  a  fit  of  anger,  sent 
me  to  finish  my  course  of  philosophy  at  Ribaudet's 
School. 

Six  months  later  I  passed  for  my  degree  of  Bachelor 
of  Arts.  Then  I  went  to  study  law  in  Paris,  and  1 
did  not  return  to  my  native  town  till  ten  years  after. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Serpent,  a  shop 
caught  my  eye.  Over  the  door  were  the  words: 
"Colonial  products  —  Piquedent";  then  underneath  so 
as  to  enlighten  the  most  ignorant:     "Grocery." 

I   exclaimed:     "  Qiianhim  mutatus  ab  illol" 

He  raised  his  head,  left  his  female  customer,  and 
rushed  toward  me  with  outstretched  hands. 


8o  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


(( 


Ah!    my   young   friend,    my  young   friend,   here 
you  are!     What  luck!    What  luck!" 

A  beautiful  woman,  very  plump,  abruptly  left  the 
counter  and  flung  herself  on   my  breast.     I  had  some 
difficulty  in  recognizing  her,  so  fat  had  she  grown. 
I  asked:     "So  then  you're  going  on  well?" 
Piquedent   had  gone  back  to  weigh  the  groceries: 
"Oh!   very  well,    very    well,    very   well.     1    have 
made  three  thousand  francs  clear  this  year!" 

"And  what  about  the  Latin,  Monsieur  Pique- 
dent?" 

"Oh!  goodness  gracious!  the  Latin  —  the  Latin  — 
the  Latin.  Well,  you  see,  it  does  not  keep  the  pot 
boiling  1" 


MOTHER    AND    SON  !!! 


W 


E  WERE  chatting  in  the  smok- 
ing-room after  a  dinner  at 
which  only  men  were  pres- 
ent. We  talked  about  unexpected 
legacies,  strange  inheritances.  Then 
M.  le  Brument,  who  was  sometimes 
^,"~^  called  "the  illustrious  master"  and  at 
other  times  the  "illustrious  advocate," 
came  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire. 
"I  have,"  he  said,  "just  now  to 
search  for  an  heir  who  disappeared  under 
peculiarly  terrible  circumstances.  It  is  one 
of  those  simple  and  ferocious  dramas  of  or- 
dinary life,  a  thing  which  possibly  happens 
every  day,  and  which  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  most 
dreadful  things  I  know.     Here  are  the  facts: 

"Nearly  six  months  ago  I  got  a  message  to  come 
to  the  side  of  a  dying  woman.     She  said  to  me: 

"'Monsieur,  I  want  to  intrust  to  you  the  most 
delicate,  the  most  difficult,  and  the  most  wearisome 
mission  than  can  be  conceived.     Be  good    enough   to 

>     G.  deM.-6  (8|  ) 


82  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

take  cognizance  of  my  will,  which  is  there  on  the 
table.  A  sum  of  five  thousand  francs  is  left  to  you 
as  a  fee  if  you  do  not  succeed  and  of  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  if  you  do  succeed.  I  want  to  have 
my  son  found  after  my  death.' 

"She  asked  me  to  assist  her  to  sit  up  in  the  bed, 
in  order  that  she  might  be  able  to  speak  with  greater 
ease,  for  her  voice,  broken  and  gasping,  was  gurgling 

in  her  throat. 

"I  saw  that  I  was  in  the  house  of  a  very  rich 
person.  The  luxurious  apartment,  with  a  certain 
simplicity  in  its  luxury,  was  upholstered  with  mate- 
rials solid  as  the  walls,  and  their  soft  surfaces  im- 
parted a  caressing  sensation,  so  that  every  word 
uttered  seemed  to  penetrate  their  silent  depths  and  to 
disappear  and  die  there. 

"The  dying  woman  went  on: 

"  '  You  are  the  first  to  hear  my  horrible  story.  I 
will  try  to  have  strength  enough  to  go  on  to  the  end 
of  it.  You  must  know  everything  so  that  you,  whom 
I  know  to  be  a  kind-hearted  man  as  well  as  a  man 
of  the  world  should  have  a  sincere  desire  to  aid  me 
with  all  your  power. 

"  'Listen  to  me. 

"'Before  my  marriage,  I  loved  a  young  man, 
whose  suit  was  rejected  by  my  family  because  he  was 
not  rich  enough.  Not  long  afterward,  I  married  a 
man  of  great  wealth.  I  married  him  through  igno- 
rance, through  obedience,  through  indifference,  as 
young  girls  do  marry. 

"M  had  a  child,  a  boy.  My  husband  died  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years. 

'"He  whom  1  had   loved  had  got   married,  in  his 


MOTHER  AND  SON  !  ! !  83 

turn.  When  he  saw  that  I  was  a  widow,  he  was 
crushed  by  horrible  grief  at  knowing  that  he  was  not 
free.  He  came  to  see  me;  he  wept  and  sobbed  so 
bitterly  before  my  eyes  that  it  was  enough  to  break 
my  heart.  He  at  first  came  to  see  me  as  a  friend. 
Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  seen  him.  What  could 
I  do.?  1  was  alone,  so  sad,  so  solitary,  so  hopeless! 
And  I  loved  him  still.  What  sufferings  we  women 
have  sometimes  to  endure! 

'"I  had  only  him  in  the  world,  my  parents  also 
being  dead.  He  came  frequently;  he  spent  whole 
evenings  with  me.  I  should  not  have  let  him  come 
so  often,  seeing  that  he  was  married.  But  I  had  not 
enough  will-power  to  prevent  him  from  coming. 

"'How  am  1  to  tell  you  what  next  happened? 
He  became  my  lover.  How  did  this  come  about  ? 
Can  I  explain  ii?  Can  anyone  explain  such  things.?  Do 
you  think  it  could  be  otherwise  when  two  human 
beings  are  drawn  toward  each  other  by  the  irresisti- 
ble force  of  a  passion  by  which  each  of  them  is  pos- 
sessed.? Do  you  believe.  Monsieur,  that  it  is  always 
in  our  power  to  resist,  that  we  can  keep  up  the 
struggle  forever,  and  refuse  to  yield  to  the  prayers, 
the  supplications,  the  tears,  the  frenzied  words,  the 
appeals  on  bended  knees,  the  transports  of  passion, 
with  which  we  are  pursued  by  the  man  we  adore, 
whom  we  want  to  gratify  even  in  his  slightest  wishes, 
whom  we  desire  to  crown  with  every  possible  happi- 
ness, and  whom,  if  we  are  to  be  guided  by  a  worldly 
code  of  honor,  we  must  drive  to  despair.  What 
strength  would  it  not  require?  What  a  renunciation 
of  happiness?  what  self-denial?  and  even  what  virtu- 
ous selfishness  ? 


84  WORKS  OF   GUY    DE  MAUPASSANT 

'"In  short,  Monsieur,  I  was  his  mistress;  and  I 
was  happy.  For  twelve  years,  I  was  happy.  I  be- 
came  —  and  this  was  my  greatest  weakness  and  my 
greatest  piece  of  cowardice  —  I  became  his  wife's 
friend. 

"'We  brought  up  my  son  together;  we  made  a 
man  of  him,  a  thorough  man,  intelligent,  full  of  sense 
and  resolution,  of  large  and  generous  ideas.  The  boy 
reached  the  age  of  seventeen. 

*"  He,  the  young  man,  was  fond  of  my  —  my  lover, 
almost  as  fond  of  him  as  I  was  myself,  for  he  had 
been  equally  cherished  and  cared  for  by  both  of  us. 
He  used  to  call  him  his  "dear  friend,"  and  respected 
him  immensely,  having  never  received  from  him  any- 
thing but  wise  counsels  and  a  good  example  of  recti- 
tude, honor,  and  probity.  He  looked  upon  him  as 
an  old,  loyal,  and  devoted  comrade  of  his  mother,  as 
a  sort  of  moral  father,  tutor,  protector — how  am  I  to 
describe  it? 

"'Perhaps  the  reason  why  he  never  asked  any 
questions  was  that  he  had  been  accustomed  from  his 
earliest  years  to  see  this  man  in  the  house,  by  his 
side,  and  by  my  side,  always  concerned  about  us  both. 

"'One  evening  the  three  of  us  were  to  dine  to- 
gether (these  were  my  principal  festive  occasions), 
and  I  waited  for  the  two  of  them,  asking  myself 
which  of  them  would  be  the  first  to  arrive.  The  door 
opened;  it  was  my  old  friend.  1  went  toward  him 
with  outstretched  arms;  and  he  drew  his  lips  toward 
mine  in  a  long,  delicious  kiss. 

"'All  of  a  sudden,  a  sound,  a  rustling  which  was 
barely  audible,  that  mysterious  sensation  which  indi- 
cates the  presence  of  another  person,   made  us  start 


MOTHER   AND   SON  !  i !  85 

and  turn  round  with  a  quick  movement.  Jean,  my 
son,  stood  there,  livid,  staring  at  us. 

"'There  was  a  moment  of  atrocious  confusion.  I 
drew  back,  holding  out  my  hands  toward  my  son  as 
if  in  supplication;  but  I  could  see  him  no  longer.  He 
had  gone. 

"'We  remained  facing  each  other  —  my  lover  and 
I  —  crushed,  unable  to  utter  a  word.  I  sank  down  on 
an  armchair,  and  1  felt  a  desire,  a  vague,  powerful 
desire  to  fly,  to  go  out  into  the  night,  and  to  disap- 
pear forever.  Then,  convulsive  sobs  rose  up  in  my 
throat,  and  I  wept,  shaken  with  spasms,  with  my 
heart  torn  asunder,  all  my  nerves  writhing  with  the 
horrible  sensation  of  an  irremediable  misfortune,  and 
with  that  dreadful  sense  of  shame  which,  in  such 
moments  as  this,  falls  on  a  mother's  heart. 

"'He  looked  at  me  in  a  scared  fashion,  not  ven- 
turing to  approach  me  or  to  speak  to  me  or  to  touch 
me,  for  fear  of  the  boy's  return.     At  last  he  said: 

'""I  am  going  to  follow  him  —  to  talk  to  him  — 
to  explain  matters  to  him.  In  short,  I  must  see  him 
and  let  him   know — " 

"'And  he  hurried  away. 

"'I  waited  —  1  waited  in  a  distracted  frame  of 
mind,  trembling  at  the  least  sound,  convulsed  with 
terror,  and  filled  with  some  unutterably  strange  and 
intolerable  emotion  by  every  slight  crackling  of  the 
fire  in  the  grate. 

"'I  waited  for  an  hour,  for  two  hours,  feeling  my 
heart  swell  with  a  dread  I  had  never  before  experi- 
enced, with  such  an  anguish  as  I  would  not  wish  the 
greatest  of  criminals  to  experience.  Where  was  my 
son?    What  was  he  doing .^ 


86  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"  'About  midnight,  a  messenger  brought  me  a  note 
from  my  lover.     I  still  know  its  contents  by  heart: 

"'"Has  your  son  returned?  I  did  not  find  him.  1  am  down 
here.     I  do  not  want  to  go  up  at  this  hour." 

"  '  I  wrote  in  pencil  on  the  same  slip  of  paper: 

"'"Jean  has  not  returned.     You  must  go  and  find  him." 

"  *  And  I  remained  all  night  in  the  armchair,  wait- 
ing for  him. 

'"I  felt  as  if  I  were  going  mad.  1  longed  to  run 
wildly  about,  to  roll  myself  on  the  floor.  And  yet 
I  did  not  even  stir,  but  kept  waiting  hour  after  hour. 
What  was  going  to  happen?  1  tried  to  imagine,  to 
guess.  But  I  could  form  no  conception,  in  spite  of 
my  efforts,  in  spite  of  the  tortures  of  my  soul! 

'"And  now  my  apprehension  was  lest  they  might 
meet.  What  would  they  do  in  that  case?  What 
would  my  son  do  ?  My  mind  was  lacerated  by  fear- 
ful doubts,  by  terrible  suppositions. 

"•You  understand  what  I  mean,  do  you  not, 
Monsieur? 

"'My  chambermaid,  who  knew  nothing,  who 
understood  nothing,  was  coming  in  every  moment, 
believing,  naturally,  that  I  had  lost  my  reason.  I  sent 
her  away  with  a  word  or  a  movement  of  the  hand. 
She  went  for  the  doctor,  who  found  me  in  the  throes 
of  a  nervous  fit. 

"'I  was  put  to  bed.  Then  came  an  attack  of 
brain-fever.  When  1  regained  consciousness,  after  a 
long  illness,  I  saw  beside  my  bed  my  —  lover — alone. 
I  exclaimed: 

"'"My  son?    Where  is  my  son?" 


MOTHER  AND  SON!!!  87 

'"He  replied  : 

*"  "1  assure  you  every  effort  has  been  made  by  me 
to  fmd  him,  but  I  have  failed!" 

"'Then,  becoming  suddenly  exasperated  and  even 
indignant, —  for  women  are  subject  to  such  outbursts 
of  unaccountable  and  unreasoning  anger, —  I  said: 

"'"I  forbid  you  to  come  near  me  or  to  see  me 
again  unless  you  find  him.     Go  away!" 

'"He  did  go  away. 

"'I  have  never  seen  one  or  the  other  of  them 
since.  Monsieur,  and  thus  I  have  lived  for  the  last 
twenty  years. 

'"Can  you  imagine  what  all  this  meant  to  me? 
Can  you  understand  this  monstrous  punishment,  this 
slow  perpetual  laceration  of  a  mother's  heart,  this 
abominable,  endless  waiting?  Endless,  did  1  say? 
No:  it  is  about  to  end,  for  I  am  dying.  I  am  dying 
without  ever  again  seeing  either  of  them  —  either  one 
or  the  other! 

'"He  —  the  man  1  loved  —  has  written  to  me  every 
day  for  the  last  twenty  years;  and  I  —  1  have  never 
consented  to  see  him,  even  for  one  second;  for  1  had 
a  strange  feeling  that  if  he  came  back  here,  it  would 
be  at  that  very  moment  my  son  would  again  make 
his  appearance!  Ah!  my  son!  my  son!  Is  he  dead? 
Is  he  living?  Where  is  he  hiding?  Over  there  per- 
haps, at  the  other  side  of  the  ocean,  in  some  country 
so  far  away  that  even  its  very  name  is  unknown  to 
mel  Does  he  ever  think  of  me?  Ah!  if  he  only 
knew!  How  cruel  children  are!  Did  he  understand 
to  what  frightful  suffering  he  condemned  me,  into 
what  depths  of  despair,  into  what  tortures,  he  cast  me 
while  I  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  leaving  me  to 


88  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

suffer  like  this  even  to  this  moment  when  I  am  going 
to  die  —  me,  his  mother,  who  loved  him  with  all  the 
violence  of  a  mother's  love!    Oh!  isn't  it  cruel,  cruel? 

"'You  will  tell  him  all  this.  Monsieur  —  will  you 
not?    You  will  repeat  for  him  my  last  words: 

"'"My  child,  my  dear,  dear  child,  be  less  harsh 
toward  poor  women  1  Life  is  already  brutal  and  sav- 
age enough  in  its  dealings  with  them.  My  dear  son, 
think  of  what  the  existence  of  your  poor  mother  has 
been  ever  since  the  day  when  you  left  her.  My  dear 
child,  forgive  her,  and  love  her,  now  that  she  is  dead, 
for  she  has  had  to  endure  the  most  frightful  penance 
ever  inflicted  on  a  woman."* 

"She  gasped  for  breath,  shuddering,  as  if  she  had 
addressed  the  last  words  to  her  son  and  as  if  he  stood 
by  her  bedside. 

"Then  she  added: 

"'You  will  tell  him  also,  Monsieur,  that  I  never 
again  saw  —  the  other.' 

"Once  more  she  ceased  speaking,  then,  in  a  broken 
voice  she  said: 

"  'Leave  me  now,  I  beg  of  you.  I  want  to  die  all 
alone,  since  they  are  not  with  me.'" 

Maitre  le  Brument  added: 

"I  left  the  house.  Messieurs,  crying  like  a  fool,  so 
vehemently,  indeed,  that  my  coachman  turned  round 
to  stare  at  me. 

"And  to  think  that  every  day  heaps  of  dramas 
like  this  are  being  enacted  all  around  us! 

"I  have  not  found  the  son — that  son  —  well,  say 
what  you  like  about  him,  but  I  call  him  that  criminal 
son  I" 


HE? 


Y  DEAR  friend,  you  cannot  under- 
stand it  by  any  possible  means, 
you   say,  and  I  perfectly  believe 
you.     You    think  I  am    going  mad? 
It  may  be  so,  but  not  for  the  reasons 
which  you  suppose. 

Yes,  I  am  going  to  get  married,  and 
I  will  tell  you  what  has  led  me  to  take 
that  step. 
My  ideas  and  my  convictions  have  not 
changed  at  all.  I  look  upon  all  legalized  co- 
habitation as  utterly  stupid,  for  I  am  certain  that 
nine  husbands  out  of  ten  are  cuckolds;  and  they 
get  no  more  than  their  deserts  for  having  been 
idiotic  enough  to  fetter  their  lives  and  renounce  their 
freedom  in  love,  the  only  happy  and  good  thing  in 
the  world,  and  for  having  clipped  the  wings  of  fancy 
which  continually  drives  us  on  toward  all  women. 
Vou  know  what  I  mean.  More  than  ever  I  feel  that 
I  am   incapable  of  loving   one  woman   alone,  because 


*It  was  in  this  story  that  the  first  gleams  of  De  Maupassant's 
approaching  madness  became  apparent.  Thenceforward  he  began  to 
revel  in  the  strange  and  terrible,  until  his  malady  had  seized  him 
wholly.     "The  Diary  of  a  Madman,"  is  in  a  similar  vein. 

(89) 


90  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

I  shall  always  adore  all  the  others  too  much.  I 
should  like  to  have  a  thousand  arms,  a  thousand  mouths, 
and  a  thousand  —  temperaments,  to  be  able  to  strain 
an  army  of  these  charming  creatures  in  my  embrace 
at  the  same  moment. 

And  yet  1  am  going  to  get  married! 

I  may  add  that  1  know  very  little  of  the  girl  who 
is  going  to  become  my  wife  to-morrow;  I  have  only 
seen  her  four  or  five  times.  I  know  that  there  is 
nothing  unpleasing  about  her,  and  that  is  enough  for 
my  purpose.  She  is  small,  fair,  and  stout;  so  of 
course  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  shall  ardently  wish 
for  a  tall,  dark,  thin  woman. 

She  is  not  rich,  and  belongs  to  the  middle  classes. 
She  is  a  girl  such  as  you  may  find  by  the  gross, 
well  adapted  for  matrimony,  without  any  apparent 
faults,  and  with  no  particularly  striking  qualities. 
People  say  of  her:  "Mile.  Lajolle  is  a  very  nice  girl," 
and  to-morrow  they  will  say:  "What  a  very  nice 
woman  Madame  Raymon  is."  She  belongs,  in  a 
word,  to  that  immense  number  of  girls  who  make 
very  good  wives  for  us  till  the  moment  comes  when 
we  discover  that  we  happen  to  prefer  all  other  women 
to  that  particular  woman  we  have  married. 

"Well,"  you  will  say  to  me,  "what  on  earth  do 
you  get  married  for?" 

I  hardly  like  to  tell  you  the  strange  and  seemingly 
improbable  reason  that  urged  me  on  to  this  senseless 
act;  the  fact,  however,  is  that  I  am  frightened  of  be- 
ing alone! 

I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  or  to  make  you  un- 
derstand me,  but  my  state  of  mind  is  so  wretched 
that  you  will  pity  me  and  despise  me. 


HE? 


91 


I  do  not  want  to  be   alone   any  longer  at  night;  I 
want    to    feel  that  there    is    some   one    close    to    me 
touching  me,  a  being  who  can   speak  and  say  some- 
thing, no  matter  what  it  be. 

I  wish  to  be  able  to  awaken  somebody  by  my 
side,  so  that  I  may  be  able  to  ask  some  sudden 
question,  a  stupid  question  even,  if  I  feel  inclined,  so 
that  I  may  hear  a  human  voice,  and  feel  that  there  is 
some  waking  soul  close  to  me,  some  one  whose 
reason  is  at  work  —  so  that  when  I  hastily  light  the 
candle  I  m^y  see  some  human  face  by  my  side  —  be- 
cause—  because  —  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it  —  because 
I  am  afraid  of  being  alone. 

Oh!  you  don't  understand  me  yet. 

I  am  not  afraid  of  any  danger;  if  a  man  were  to 
come  into  the  room  I  should  kill  him  without  trem- 
bling. I  am  not  afraid  of  ghosts,  nor  do  I  believe  in 
the  supernatural.  I  am  not  afraid  of  dead  people,  for 
I  believe  in  the  total  annihilation  of  every  being  that 
disappears  from  the  face  of  this  earth. 

Well, —  yes,  well,  it  must  be  told;  I  am  afraid  of 
myself,  afraid  of  that  horrible  sensation  of  incompre- 
hensible  fear. 

You  may  laugh,  if  you  like.  It  is  terrible  and  I 
cannot  get  over  it.  I  am  afraid  of  the  walls,  of  the 
furniture,  of  the  familiar  objects,  which  are  animated, 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  by  a  kind  of  animal  life. 
Above  all,  I  am  afraid  of  my  own  dreadful  thoughts, 
of  my  reason,  which  seems  as  if  it  were  about  to 
leave  me,  driven  away  by  a  mysterious  and  invisible 
agony. 

At  first  I  feel  a  vague  uneasiness  in  my  mind 
which  causes  a   cold    shiver   to    run   all    over    me.     I 


92 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


look  round,  and  of  course  nothing  is  to  be  seen,  and 
I  wish  there  were  something  there,  no  matter  what, 
as  long  as  it  were  something  tangible:  1  am  fright- 
ened, merely  because  I  cannot  understand  my  own 
terror. 

If  1  speak,  I  am  afraid  of  my  own  voice.  If  I 
walk,  I  am  afraid  of  1  know  not  what,  behind  the 
door,  behind  the  curtains,  in  the  cupboard,  or  under 
my  bed,  and  yet  all  the  time  1  know  there  is  nothing 
anywhere,  and  I  turn  round  suddenly  because  1  am 
afraid  of  what  is  behind  me,  although  there  is  noth- 
ing there,  and  I  know  it. 

I  get  agitated;  I  feel  that  my  fear  increases,  and 
so  I  shut  myself  up  in  my  own  room,  get  into  bed, 
and  hide  under  the  clothes,  and  there,  cowering  down 
rolled  into  a  ball,  I  close  my  eyes  in  despair  and  re- 
main thus  for  an  indefinite  time,  remembering  that 
my  candle  is  alight  on  the  table  by  my  bedside,  and 
that  I  ought  to  put  it  out,  and  yet  —  I  dare  not  do  it! 

It  is  very  terrible,  is  it  not,  to  be  like  that? 

Formerly  I  felt  nothing  of  all  that;  I  came  home 
quite  comfortably,  and  went  up  and  down  in  my 
rooms  without  anything  disturbing  my  calmness  of 
mind.  Had  anyone  told  me  that  I  should  be  attacked 
by  a  malady  —  for  I  can  call  it  nothing  else  —  of  most 
improbable  fear,  such  a  stupid  and  terrible  malady  as 
it  is,  I  should  have  laughed  outright.  I  was  certainly 
never  afraid  of  opening  the  door  in  the  dark;  I  used 
to  go  to  bed  slowly  without  locking  it,  and  never 
got  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  make  sure  that 
everything  was  firmly  closed. 

It  began  last  year  in  a  very  strange  manner,  on  a 
damp   autumn   evening.     When    my  servant   had  left 


HE? 


93 


the  room,  after  I  had  dined,  I  asked  myself  what  I 
was  going  to  do.  I  walked  up  and  down  my  room 
for  some  time,  feehng  tired  without  any  reason  for 
it,  unable  to  work,  and  without  enough  energy  to 
read.  A  fine  rain  was  falling,  and  I  felt  unhappy,  a 
prey  to  one  of  those  fits  of  casual  despondency  which 
make  us  feel  inclined  to  cry,  or  to  talk,  no  matter  to 
whom,  so  as  to  shake  off  our  depressing  thoughts. 

1  felt  that  I  was  alone  and  that  my  rooms  seemed 
to  me  to  be  more  empty  that  they  had  ever  been 
before.  I  was  surrounded  by  a  sensation  of  infinite 
and  overwhelming  solitude.  What  was  I  to  do?  I 
sat  down,  but  then  a  kind  of  nervous  impatience 
agitated  my  legs,  so  that  I  got  up  and  began  to 
walk  about  again.  I  was  feverish,  for  my  hands, 
which  I  had  clasped  behind  me,  as  one  often  does 
when  walking  slowly,  almost  seemed  to  burn  one 
another.  Then  suddenly  a  cold  shiver  ran  down  my 
back,  and  I  thought  the  damp  air  might  have  pene- 
trated into  my  room,  so  I  lit  the  fire  for  the  first 
time  that  year,  and  sat  down  again  and  looked  at 
the  flames.  But  soon  I  felt  that  1  could  not  possibly 
remain  quiet".  So  I  got  up  again  and  determined  to 
go  out,  to  pull  myself  together,  and  to  seek  a  friend 
to  bear  me  company. 

1  could  not  find  anyone,  so  I  went  on  to  the  boule- 
vards to  try  and  meet  some  acquaintance  or  other 
there. 

1  was  wretched  everywhere,  and  the  wet  pave- 
ment glistened  in  the  gaslight,  while  the  oppressive 
mist  of  the  almost  impalpable  rain  lay  heavily  over 
the  streets  and  seemed  to  obscure  the  light  from 
the  lamps. 


94 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


I  went  on  slowly,  saying  to  myself,  "I  shall  not 
find  a  soul  to  talk  to." 

1  glanced  into  several  cafes,  from  the  Madeleine  as 
far  as  the  Faubourg  Poissoniere,  and  saw  many 
unhappy-looking  individuals  sitting  at  the  tables,  who 
did  not  seem  even  to  have  enough  energy  left  to 
finish  the  refreshments  they  had  ordered. 

For  a  long  time  1  wandered  aimlessly  up  and 
down,  and  about  midnight  I  started  off  for  home;  I 
was  very  calm  and 'very  tired.  My  concierge*  opened 
the  door  at  once,  which  was  quite  unusual  for  him, 
and  I  thought  that  another  lodger  had  no  doubt  just 
come  in. 

When  I  go  out  I  always  double-lock  the  door 
of  my  room.  Now  I  found  it  merely  closed,  v^hich 
surprised  me;  but  1  supposed  that  some  letters  had 
been  brought  up  for  me  in  the  course  of  the  eve- 
ning. 

I  went  in,  and  found  my  fire  still  burning  so  that 
it  lighted  up  the  room  a  little.  In  the  act  of  taking 
up  a  candle,  I  noticed  somebody  sitting  in  my  arm- 
chair by  the  fire,  warming  his  feet,  with  his  back 
toward  me. 

1  was  not  in  the  slightest  degree  frightened,  i 
thought  very  naturally  that  some  friend  or  other  had 
come  to  see  me.  No  doubt  the  porter,  whom  I  had 
told  when  I  went  out,  had  lent  him  his  own  key. 
In  a  moment  1  remembered  all  the  circumstances  of 
my  return,  how  the  street  door  had  been  opened  im- 
mediately, and  that  my  own  door  was  only  latched, 
and  not  locked. 


*  Hall-porter. 


HE?  95 

!  could  see  nothing  of  my  friend  but  his  head. 
He  had  evidently  gone  to  sleep  while  waiting  for  me, 
so  I  went  up  to  him  to  rouse  him.  I  saw  him  quite 
dearly;  his  right  arm  was  hanging  down  and  his  legs 
were  crossed,  while  his  head,  which  was  somewhat 
inclined  to  the  left  of  the  armchair,  seemed  to  indi- 
cate that  he  was  asleep.  "Who  can  it  be?"  I  asked 
myself,  I  could  not  see  clearly,  as  the  room  was 
rather  dark,  so  I  put  out  my  hand  to  touch  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  it  came  in  contact  with  the  back  of 
the  chair.  There  was  nobody  there;  the  seat  was 
empty. 

I  fairly  jumped  with  fright.  For  a  moment  I  drew 
back  as  if  some  terrible  danger  had  suddenly  appeared 
in  my  way;  then  I  turned  round  again,  impelled  by 
some  imperious  desire  to  look  at  the  armchair  again. 
I  remained  standing  upright,  panting  with  fear,  so  up- 
set that  I  could  not  collect  my  thoughts,  and  ready  to 
drop. 

But  1  am  naturally  a  cool  man,  and  soon  recovered 
myself  1  thought:  "It  is  a  mere  hallucination,  that 
is  all,"  and  1  immediately  began  to  reflect  about  this 
phenomenon.  Thoughts  fly  very  quickly  at  such  mo- 
ments. 

I  had  been  suffering  from  a  hallucination,  that  was 
an  incontestable  fact.  My  mind  had  been  perfectly 
lucid  and  had  acted  regularly  and  logically,  so  there 
was  nothing  the  matter  with  the  brain.  It  was  only 
my  eyes  that  had  been  deceived;  they  had  had  a 
vision,  one  of  those  visions  which  lead  simple  folk  to 
believe  in  miracles.  It  was  a  nervous  accident  to  the 
optical  apparatus,  nothing  more;  the  eyes  were  rather 
overwrought,  perhaps. 


96 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


I  lit  my  candle,  and  when  1  stooped  down  to  the 
fire  in  so  doing,  I  noticed  that  1  was  trembling,  and 
I  raised  myself  up  with  a  jump,  as  if  somebody  had 
touched  me  from  behind. 

I  was  certainly  not  by  any  means  reassured. 

I  walked  up  and  down  a  little,  and  hummed  a 
tune  or  two.  Then  I  double-locked  my  door,  and 
felt  rather  reassured;  now,  at  any  rate,  nobody  could 
come  in. 

1  sat  down  again,  and  thought  over  my  adventure 
for  a  long  time;  then  1  went  to  bed,  and  put  out  my 
light. 

For  some  minutes  all  went  well;  1  lay  quietly  on 
my  back.  Then  an  irresistible  desire  seized  me  to 
look  round  the  room,  and  1  turned  on  to  my  side. 

My  fire  was  nearly  out  and  the  few  glowing  em- 
bers threw  a  faint  light  on  to  the  floor  by  the  chair, 
where  I  fancied  I  saw  the  man  sitting  again. 

I  quickly  struck  a  match,  but  I  had  been  mis- 
taken, for  there  was  nothing  there;  I  got  up,  how- 
ever, and  hid  the  chair  behind  my  bed,  and  tried  to 
get  to  sleep  as  the  room  was  now  dark.  But  I  had 
not  forgotten  myself  for  more  than  five  minutes  when 
in  my  dream  1  saw  all  the  scene  which  I  had  wit- 
nessed as  clearly  as  if  it  were  reality.  I  woke  up 
with  a  start,  and,  having  lit  the  candle,  sat  up  in 
bed,  without  venturing  even  to  try  and  go  to  sleep 
again. 

Twice,  however,  sleep  overcame  me  for  a  few 
moments  in  spite  of  myself,  and  twice  I  saw  the 
same  thing  again,  till  I  fancied  I  was  going  mad. 
When  day  broke,  however,  I  thought  that  I  was 
cured,  and  slept  peacefully  till  noon. 


HE? 


97 


It  was  all  past  and  over.  I  had  been  feverish,  had 
had  the  nightmare;  I  don't  know  what.  I  had  been  ill, 
in  a  word,  but  yet  I  thought  that  I  was  a  great  fool. 

I  enjoyed  myself  thoroughly  that  evening;  I  went 
and  dined  at  a  restaurant;  afterward  I  went  to  the 
theater,  and  then  started  home.  But  as  I  got  near 
the  house  I  was  seized  by  a  strange  feeling  of  un- 
easiness once  more;  I  was  afraid  of  seeing  him  again. 
I  was  not  afraid  of  him,  not  afraid  of  his  presence,  in 
which  I  did  not  believe;  but  I  was  afraid  of  being 
deceived  again;  I  was  afraid  of  some  fresh  hallucina- 
tion, afraid  lest  fear  should  take  possession  of  me. 

For  more  than  an  hour  1  wandered  up  and  down 
the  pavement;  then  I  thought  that  1  was  really  too 
foolish,  and  returned  home.  I  panted  so  that  I  could 
scarcely  get  upstairs,  and  remained  standing  outside 
my  door  for  more  than  ten  minutes;  then  suddenly  I 
took  courage  and  pulled  myself  together.  I  inserted 
my  key  into  the  lock,  and  went  in  with  a  candle  in 
my  hand.  I  kicked  open  my  half-open  bedroom 
door,  and  gave  a  frightened  look  toward  the  fire- 
place;  there  was  nothing  there.     A  —  h! 

What  a  relief  and  what  a  delight!  What  a  de- 
liverance! 1  walked  up  and  down  briskly  and  boldly, 
but  1  was  not  altogether  reassured,  and  kept  turning 
round  with  a  jump;  the  very  shadows  in  the  corners 
disquieted  me. 

I  slept  badly,  and  was  constantly  disturbed  by 
imaginary  noises,  but  I  did  not  see  him;  no,  that 
was  all  over. 

Since  that  time  I  have  been  afraid  of  being  alone 
at  night.  I  feel  that  the  specter  is  there,  close  to  me, 
around    me;    but   it   has   not   appeared   to    me    again. 

9    G.  d«M.-7 


q8  works  of   guy   DE   MAUPASSANT 

And  supposing  it  did,  what  would   it   matter,  since  I 
do  not  believe  in  it  and  know  tiiat  it  is  nothing? 

It  still  worries  me,  however,  because  I  am  con- 
stantly thinking  of  it:  his  right  arm  hanging  down 
and  his  head  inclined  to  the  left  like  a  man  who  was 
asleep  —  Enough  of  that,  in  Heaven's  name!  I  don't 
want  to  think  about  it! 

Why,  however,  am  I  so  persistently  possessed 
with  this  idea?     His  feet  were  close  to  the  fire! 

He  haunts  me;  it  is  very  stupid,  but  so  it  is.  Who 
and  what  is  HE  ?  I  know  that  he  does  not  exist 
except  in  my  cowardly  imagination,  in  my  fears, 
and  in  my  agony!     There  —  enough  of  that! 

Yes,  it  is  all  very  well  for  me  to  reason  with  my- 
self, to  stiffen  myself,  so  to  say;  but  I  cannot  remain 
at  home,  because  I  know  he  is  there.  I  know  {  shall 
not  see  him  again;  he  will  not  show  himself  again; 
that  is  all  over.  But  he  is  there  all  the  same  in  my 
thoughts.  He  remains  invisible,  but  that  does  not 
prevent  his  being  there.  He  is  behind  the  doors,  in 
the  closed  cupboards,  in  the  wardrobe,  under  the  bed, 
in  every  dark  corner.  If  I  open  the  door  or  the  cup- 
board, if  I  take  the  candle  to  look  under  the  bed  and 
throw  a  light  on  to  the  dark  places,  he  is  there  no 
longer,  but  1  feel  that  he  is  behind  me.  I  turn  round, 
certain  that  I  shall  not  see  him,  that  1  shall  never  see 
him  again;  but  he  is,  none  the  less,  behind  me. 

It  is  very  stupid,  it  is  dreadful;  but  what  am  I  to 
do?    I  cannot  help  it. 

But  if  there  were  two  of  us  in  the  place,  I  feel 
certain  that  he  would  not  be  there  any  longer,  for  he 
is  there  just  because  I  am  alone,  simply  and  solely 
because  I  am  alone! 


THE    TAILOR'S    DAUGHTER 


HE  Steamboat  "Kleber"  had  stopped, 
and    I  was  admiring  the  beautiful 
bay   of  Bougie,    that  was   opened 
out  before  us.     The  high  hills  were 
covered  with  forests,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance the  yellow  sands  formed  a  beach 
,.  -        of  powdered  gold,  while   the   sun  shed 
">      its  fiery  rays  on  the  white  houses  of  the 
""/'  town. 

The  warm  African  breeze  blew  the  odor 
-  of  that  great,  mysterious  continent,  into  which 
men  of  the  Northern  races  but  rarely  penetrate, 
into  my  face.  For  three  months  I  had  been 
wandering  on  the  borders  of  that  great  unknown 
world,  on  the  outskirts  of  that  strange  world  of  the 
ostrich,  the  camel,  the  gazelle,  the  hippopotamus,  the 
gorilla,  the  lion  and  the  tiger,  and  the  negro.  1  had 
seen  the  Arab  galloping  like  the  wind  and  passing 
like  a  floating  standard,  and  I  had  slept  under  those 
brown  tents,  the  moving  habitation  of  the  white  birds 
of  the  desert,  and  felt,  as  it  were,  intoxicated  with 
light    with  fancy,  and  with  space. 

(99) 


lOO  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

But  now,  after  this  present  and  final  excursion,  I 
should  have  to  return  to  France  and  to  Paris,  that 
city  of  useless  chatter,  of  commonplace  cares,  and  of 
continual  hand-shaking,  and  should  bid  adieu  to  all 
that  1  had  got  to  like  so  much,  which  was  so  new 
to  me,  which  I  had  scarcely  had  time  to  see  thor- 
oughly, and  which  I  so  much  regretted  to  leave. 

A  fleet  of  small  boats  surrounded  the  steamer,  and, 
jumping  into  one  rowed  by  a  negro  lad,  1  soon 
reached  the  quay  near  the  old  Saracen  gate,  whose 
gray  ruins  at  the  entrance  of  the  Kabyle  town  looked 
like  an  old  escutcheon  of  nobility.  While  I  was 
standing  by  the  side  of  my  portmanteau,  looking  at 
the  great  steamer  lying  at  anchor  in  the  roads,  and 
filled  with  admiration  at  that  unique  shore,  and  that 
semicircle  of  hills,  bathed  in  blue  light,  more  beauti- 
ful than  those  of  Ajaccio,  or  of  Porto,  in  Corsica,  a 
heavy  hand  was  laid  on  my  shoulder.  Turning  round 
I  saw  a  tall  man  with  a  long  beard,  dressed  in  white 
flannel,  and  wearing  a  straw  hat,  standing  by  my 
side  and  looking  at  me  with  his  blue  eyes. 

"Are  you  not  an  old  schoolfellow  of  mine?"  he 
said. 

"It  is  very  possible.     What  is  your  name?" 

"Tremouhn." 

"By  Jove!     You  were  in  the  same  class  as  I." 

"Yes!     Old  fellow,  I  recognized  you  immediately." 

He  seemed  so  pleased,  so  happy  at  seeing  me, 
that  in  an  outburst  of  friendly  selfishness,  I  shook 
both  the  hands  of  my  former  schoolfellow  heartily, 
and  felt  very  pleased  at  meeting  him  thus. 

For  four  years,  Tremoulin  had  been  one  of  my 
best  and  most  intimate  school  friends,  one   of  those 


THE   TAILOR'S    DAUGHTER  lOl 

whom  we  are  too  apt  to  forget  as  soon  as  we  leave. 
In  those  days,  he  had  been  a  tall,  thin  fellow,  whose 
head  seemed  to  be  too  heavy  for  his  bodv;  it  was  a 
large,  round  head,  and  hung  sometimes  to  the  right 
and  sometimes  to  the  left,  on  to  his  chest.  TremouHn 
was  very  clever,  however;  he  had  a  marvelous  apti^ 
tude  for  learning,  an  instinctive  intuition  for  all  liter- 
ary studies,  and  gained  nearly  all  the  prizes  in  our 
class. 

We  were  fully  convinced  at  school  that  he  would 
turn  out  a  celebrated  man,  a  poet,  no  doubt,  for  he 
wrote  verses,  and  was  full  of  ingeniously  sentimental 
ideas.  His  father,  who  kept  a  chemist's  shop  near 
the  Pantheon,  was  not  supposed  to  be  very  well  oflF» 
and  I  had  lost  sight  of  him  as  soon  as  he  had  taken 
his  bachelor's  degree.  I  naturally  asked  him  what  he 
was  doing  there. 

"I  am  a  planter,"  he  replied. 

"Bah!     You  really  plant?" 

"And  I  have  my  harvest." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Grapes,  from  which  I  make  wine." 

"Is  your  wine-growing  a  success?" 

"A  great  success." 

"So  much  the  better,  old  fellow." 

"Were  you  going  to  the  hotel?" 

"Of  course  I  was." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  just  come  home  with  me, 
instead." 

"Butl  — " 

"The  matter  is  settled." 

And  he  said  to  the  young  negro  who  was  watch- 
ing our  movements:    "Take  that  home,  Al." 


I02  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  lad  put  my  portmanteau  on  his  shoulder,  and 
set  off,  raising  the  dust  with  his  black  feet,  while 
Tremoulin  took  my  arm  and  led  me  off.  First  of  all, 
he  asked  about  my  journey  and  what  impressions  it 
had  made  on  me,  and  seeing  how  enthusiastic  1  was 
about  it,  he  seemed  to  like  me  better  than  ever.  He 
lived  in  an  old  Moorish  house,  in  an  interior  street, 
commanded  by  a  terrace.  It  had  a  windowless  court- 
yard and  commanded  the  neighboring  houses  as  well 
as  the  bay,  and  the  forests,  the  hill,  and  the  open 
sea.     I  could  not  help  exclaiming: 

"Ah!  This  is  what  I  like;  the  whole  of  the  East 
lays  hold  of  me  in  this  place.  You  are  indeed  lucky 
to  be  living  here!  What  nights  you  must  spend  upon 
that  terrace!     Do  you  sleep  there?" 

"Yes,  in  the  summer.  We  will  go  on  to  it  this 
evening.     Are  you  fond  of  fishing?" 

"What  kind  of  fishing?" 

"Fishing  by  torchlight" 

"Yes,  I  am  particularly  fond  of  it." 

"Very  well,  then,  we  will  go  after  dinner,  and  we 
will  come  back  and  drink  sherbet  on  my  roof." 

After  1  had  had  a  bath,  he  took  me  to  see  the 
charming  Kabyle  town,  a  veritable  cascade  of  white 
houses  toppling  down  to  the  sea,  and  then,  when  it 
was  getting  dusk,  we  went  in,  and  after  an  excellent 
dinner  went  down  to  the  quay.  We  saw  nothing 
except  the  fires  and  the  stars,  those  large,  bright, 
scintillating  African  stars.  A  boat  was  waiting  for 
us,  and  as  soon  as  we  had  got  in,  a  man  whose 
face  1  could  not  distinguish  began  to  row.  My  friend 
was  getting  ready  the  brazier  which  he  would  light 
later,    and   he    said   to    me:     "You    know    I    have    a 


THE  TAILOR'S   DAUGHTER 


105 


mania  for  using  a  fish-spear,  and  few  can  handle  it 
it  better  than  I." 

"Allow  me  to  compliment  you  on  your  skill." 
We  had  rowed  round  a  kind  of  mole,  and  now  were 
in  a  small  bay  full  of  high  rocks,  whose  shadows 
looked  like  towers  built  in  the  water.  I  suddenly 
perceived  that  the  sea  was  phosphorescent,  and  as 
the  oars  moved  gently,  they  seemed  to  light  up  mov- 
ing flames,  that  followed  in  our  wake,  and  then  died 
out.  I  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  boat  and  watched 
it  as  we  glided  over  the  ghmmer  in  the  darkness. 

Where  were  we  going  to  ?  I  could  not  see  my 
neighbors;  in  fact,  1  could  see  nothing  but  the  lumi- 
nous ripple,  and  the  sparks  of  water  dropping  from 
the  oars.  It  was  hot,  very  hot,  the  darkness  seemed 
as  hot  as  a  furnace,  and  this  mysterious  motion  with 
these  two  men  in  that  silent  boat  had  a  pecuhar 
effect   upon    me. 

Suddenly  the  rower  stopped.  Where  were  we? 
I  heard  a  slight  scratching  noise  close  to  me,  and  I 
saw  a  hand,  nothing  but  a  hand  applying  a  lighted 
match  to  the  iron  grating  which  was  fastened  over 
the  bows  of  the  boat  and  was  heaped  high  with 
wood,  as  if  it  had  been  a  floating  funeral  pile.  It  was 
soon  blazing  brightly,  illuminating  the  boat  and  the 
two  men,  an  old,  thin,  pale,  wrinkled  sailor,  with  a 
pocket  handkerchief  tied  round  his  head  instead  of  a 
cap,  and  Tremoulin,  whose  fair  beard  glistened  in  the 
light. 

The  other  began  to  row  again,  while  Tremoulin 
kept  throwing  wood  on  to  the  brazier,  which  burned 
red  and  brightly.  1  leaned  over  the  side  again,  and 
could   see   the    bottom.     A    few   feet   below  us   there 


I04 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


was  that  strange  country  of  the  water,  which  vivifies 
plants  and  animals,  just  like  the  air  of  heaven  does. 
Tremoulin,  who  was  standing  in  the  bows  with  his 
body  bent  forward  and  holding  the  sharp-pointed 
trident  in  his  hand,  was  on  the  lookout  with  the 
ardent  gaze  of  a  beast  of  prey  watching  for  its  spoil. 
Suddenly,  with  a  swift  movement,  he  darted  his 
forked  weapon  into  the  sea  so  vigorously  that  it 
secured  a  large  fish  swimming  near  the  bottom.  It 
was  a  conger  eel,  which  managed  to  wriggle,  half 
dead  as  it  was,  into  a  puddle  of  the  brackish  water. 

Tremoulin  again  threw  his  spear,  and  when  he 
pulled  it  up,  I  saw  a  great  lump  of  red  flesh  which 
palpitated,  moved,  and  rolled  and  unrolled  long,  strong, 
soft  feelers  round  the  handle  of  the  trident.  It  was 
an  octopus,  and  Tremoulin  opened  his  knife,  and 
with  a  swift  movement  plunged  it  between  the  eyes 
and  killed  it.  And  so  our  fishing  continued,  until 
the  wood  began  to  run  short.  When  there  was  not 
enough  left  to  keep  up  the  fire,  Tremoulin  dipped  the 
braziers  into  the  sea,  and  we  were  again  buried  in 
darkness. 

The  old  sailor  began  to  row  again,  slowly  and 
regularly,  though  1  could  not  tell  where  the  land  or 
where  the  port  was.  By  and  by,  however,  I  saw 
lights.     We  were  nearing  the  harbor. 

"Are  you  sleepy?"  my  friend  said  to  me. 

"Not  the  slightest." 

"Then  we  will  go  and  have  a  chat  on  the  roof." 

"I  shall  be  delighted." 

Just  as  we  got  on  to  the  terrace,  I  saw  the  crescent 
moon  rising  behind  the  mountains,  and  around  us 
the  white  houses,  with  their  flat  roofs,  sloping  down 


THE  TAILOR'S   DAUGHTER 


105 


toward  the  sea,  while  human  forms  were  stand- 
ing or  lying  on  them,  sleeping  or  dreaming  under 
the  stars;  whole  families  wrapped  in  long  gowns,  and 
resting  in  the  calm  night,  after  the  heat  of  the  day. 

It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  Eastern  mind  were 
taking  possession  of  me,  the  poetical  and  legendary 
spirit  of  a  people  with  simple  and  flowery  thoughts. 
My  head  was  full  of  the  Bible  and  of  "  The  Arabian 
Nights";  1  could  hear  the  prophets  proclaiming  mira- 
cles, and  I  could  see  princesses  wearing  silk  robes 
on  the  roofs  of  the  palaces,  while  delicate  perfumes, 
whose  smoke  assumed  the  forms  of  genii,  were  burn- 
ing on  silver  dishes.     I  said   to   Tremoulin: 

"You  are  very  fortunate  in  living  here." 

"1  came  here  quite  by  accident,"  he  replied. 

"By  accident?" 

"Yes,  accident  and  unhappiness  brought  me 
here." 

"You  have  been  unhappy.?" 

"Very  unhappy." 

He  was  standing  in  front  of  me,  wrapped  in  his 
burnous,  and  his  voice  had  such  a  painful  ring  in  it, 
that  it  almost  made  me  shiver.  After  a  moment's 
silence,  however,  he  continued: 

"I  will  tell  you  what  my  troubles  have  been;  per- 
haps it  will  do  me  good  to  speak  about  them." 

"Let  me  hear  them." 

"Do  you  really  wish  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well,  then.  You  remember  what  I  was  at 
school;  a  sort  of  a  poet,  brought  up  in  a  chemist's 
shop.  I  dreamed  of  writing  books,  and  I  tried  it, 
after    taking    my    degree,   but    I    did    not    succeed.     I 


I06  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

published  a  volume  of  verse,  and  then  a  novel,  and 
neither  of  them  sold;  then  I  wrote  a  play,  which 
was  never  acted. 

"Next,  1  lost  my  heart,  but  I  will  not  give  you  an 
account  of  my  passion.  Next  door  to  my  father's 
shop,  there  was  a  tailor,  who  had  a  daughter  with 
whom  1  fell  in  love.  She  was  very  clever,  had  ob- 
tained her  certificates  for  higher  education,  and  hei 
mind  was  bright  and  active,  quite  in  keeping  indeed 
with  her  body.  She  might  have  been  taken  for  fif- 
teen, although  she  was  two-and-twenty.  She  was 
very  small,  with  delicate  features,  outlines  and  tints, 
just  like  some  beautiful  water-color.  Her  nose,  her 
mouth,  her  blue  eyes,  her  light  hair,  her  smile,  her 
waist,  her  hands,  all  looked  as  if  they  were  fit  for  a 
stained  window,  and  not  for  everyday  life,  but  she 
was  lively,  supple,  and  incredibly  active,  and  1  was 
very  much  in  love  with  her.  I  remember  two  or 
three  walks  in  the  Luxembourg  Garden,  near  the 
Medicis  fountain,  which  were  certainly  the  happiest 
hours  of  my  hfe.  1  dare  say  you  have  known  that 
foolish  condition  of  tender  madness,  which  causes  us 
to  think  of  nothing  but  of  acts  of  adoration !  One  really 
becomes  possessed,  haunted  by  a  woman,  and  noth- 
ing exists  for  us   when  by  her  side. 

"We  soon  became  engaged,  and  I  told  her  my 
projects  for  the  future,  which  she  did  not  approve. 
She  did  not  believe  that  1  was  either  a  poet,  a  nov- 
elist, or  a  dramatic  author,  and  thought  a  prosperous 
business  could  afford  perfect  happiness.  So  I  gave 
up  the  idea  of  writing  books,  and  resigned  myself  to 
selling  them,  and  1  bought  a  bookseller's  business  at 
Marseilles,  the  owner  of  which  had  just  died. 


THE   TAILOR'S   DAUGHTER 


107 


"I  had  three  very  prosperous  years.  We  had 
made  our  shop  into  a  sort  of  hterary  drawing-room, 
where  all  the  men  of  letters  in  the  town  used  to 
come  and  talk.  They  came  in,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
club,  and  exchanged  ideas  on  books,  on  poets,  and 
especially  on  politics.  My  wife,  who  took  a  very 
active  part  in  the  business,  enjoyed  quite  a  reputation 
in  the  town,  but  as  for  me,  while  they  were  all  talk- 
ing downstairs,  I  was  working  in  my  studio  upstairs, 
which  communicated  with  the  shop  by  a  winding 
staircase.  I  could  hear  their  voices,  their  laughter, 
and  their  discussions,  and  sometimes  I  left  off  writing 
in  order  to  listen.  I  remained  in  my  own  room  to 
write  a  novel  —  which  I  never  finished. 

"The  most  regular  frequenters  of  the  shop  were 
Monsieur  Montina,  a  man  of  good  private  means, 
a  tall,  handsome  man,  such  as  one  meets  with  in 
the  south  of  France,  with  an  olive  skin  and  dark,  ex- 
pressive eyes;  Monsieur  Barbet,  a  magistrate;  two 
merchants,  who  were  partners,  Messrs.  Faucil  and  La- 
barregue;  and  General  the  Marquis  de  la  Fleche,  the 
head  of  the  Royalist  party,  the  principal  man  in  the 
whole  district,  an  old  fellow  of  sixty-six. 

"My  business  prospered,  and  I  was  happy,  very 
happy.  One  day,  however,  about  three  o'clock  when 
I  was  out  on  business,  as  1  was  going  through  the 
Rue  Saint  Ferreol,  I  suddenly  saw  a  woman  come  out 
of  a  house,  whose  figure  and  appearance  were  so 
much  like  my  wife's,  that  I  should  have  said  to  my- 
self, 'There  she  is!'  if  I  had  not  left  her  in  the  shop 
half  an  hour  before,  suffering  from  a  headache.  She 
was  walking  quickly  on  before  me,  without  turning 
round,  and,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  followed  her,  as  1  felt 


Io8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

surprised  and  uneasy.  I  said  to  myself:  'It  is  she; 
no,  it  is  quite  impossible,  as  she  has  a  sick  headache. 
And  then,  what  could  she  have  to  do  in  that  house?' 
However,  as  I  wished  to  have  the  matter  cleared  up, 
I  made  haste  after  her.  1  do  not  know  whether  she 
felt  or  guessed  that  I  was  behind  her,  or  whether  she 
recognized  my  step,  but  she  turned  round  suddenly. 
It  was  she!  When  she  saw  me,  she  grew  very  red 
and  stopped,  and  then,  with  a  smile,  she  said:  'Oh! 
Here  you  are?'     I  felt  choking. 

"'Yes;  so  you  have  come  out?  And  how  is  your 
headache?' 

"'It  is  better,  and  I  have  been  out  on  an  errand.' 

"'Where?' 

"'To  Lacaussade's,  in  the  Rue  Cassinelli  to  order 
some  pencils.' 

"She  looked  me  full  in  the  face.  She  was  not 
flushed  now,  but  rather  pale,  on  the  contrary.  Her 
clear,  limpid  eyes  —  ah!  those  women's  eyes!  —  ap- 
peared to  be  full  of  truth,  but  1  felt  vaguely  and  pain- 
fully, that  they  were  full  of  lies.  I  was  much  more 
confused  and  embarrassed  than  she  was  herself,  with- 
out venturing  to  suspect,  but  sure  that  she  was  lying, 
though  I  did  not  know  why,  and  so  I  merely  said: 

"'You  were  quite  right  to  go  out,  if  you  felt 
better.' 

"'Oh!  yes;  my  head  is  much  better.' 

'"Are  you  going  home?' 

'"Yes,  of  course  I  am.' 

"I  left  her,  and  wandered  about  the  streets  by 
myself.  What  was  going  on?  While  I  was  talking 
to  her,  I  had  an  intuitive  feeling  of  her  falseness, 
but  now  I  could  not  believe  that  it  was  so,  and  when 


THE   TAILOR'S    DAUGHTER 


109 


I  returned  home  to  dinner,  I  was  angry  for  having 
suspected  her,  even  for  a  moment. 

''Have  you  ever  been  jealous?  It  does  not  matter 
whether  you  have  or  not,  but  the  first  drop  of  jealousy 
had  fallen  into  my  heart,  and  that  is  always  like  a 
spark  of  fire.  It  did  not  accuse  her  of  anything,  and 
I  did  not  think  anything,  I  only  knew  that  she  had 
lied.  You  must  remember  that  every  night,  after 
the  customers  and  clerks  had  left,  we  were  alone,  and 
either  strolled  as  far  as  the  harbor,  when  it  was 
fine,  or  remained  talking  in  my  office,  if  the  weather 
was  bad,  and  I  used  to  open  my  heart  to  her  without 
any  reserve,  because  1  loved  her.  She  was  part  of 
my  Hfe,  the  greater  part,  and  all  my  happiness,  and 
in  her  small  hands  she  held  my  trusting,  faithful 
heart  captive. 

"During  the  first  days,  those  days  of  doubt,  and 
before  my  suspicions  increased  and  assumed  a  pre- 
cise shape,  I  felt  depressed  and  chilly  as  if  I  were 
going  to  be  seriously  ill.  I  was  continually  cold, 
really  cold,  and  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep.  Why 
had  she  told  me  a  lie  ?  What  was  she  doing  in  that 
house.?  I  went  there  to  try  and  find  out  something, 
but  I  could  discover  nothing.  The  man  who  rented 
the  first  floor,  and  who  was  an  upholsterer,  had  told 
me  all  about  his  neighbors,  but  without  helping  me 
the  least.  A  midwife  had  lived  on  the  second 
floor,  a  dressmaker  and  a  manicure  and  chiropodist 
on  the  third,  and  two  coachmen  and  their  families  in 
the  attics. 

"Why  had  she  told  me  a  lie?  It  would  have  been 
so  easy  for  her  to  have  said  that  she  had  been  to  the 
dressmaker's   or   chiropodist's.     Oh!  how  I   longed  to 


no  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

question  them,  also!  I  did  not  say  so,  for  fear  that 
she  might  guess  my  suspicions.  One  thing,  however, 
was  certain:  she  had  been  into  that  house,  and  had 
concealed  the  fact  from  me,  so  there  was  some  mys- 
tery in  it.  But  what?  At  one  moment,  I  thought 
there  might  be  some  laudable  purpose  in  it,  some 
charitable  deed  which  she  wished  to  hide,  some  in- 
formation which  she  wished  to  obtain,  and  I  found 
fault  with  myself  for  suspecting  her.  Have  not  all  of 
us  the  right  to  our  little,  innocent  secrets,  a  kind  of 
second,  interior  life,  for  which  one  ought  not  to  be 
responsible  to  anybody?  Can  a  man,  because  he  has 
taken  a  girl  to  be  his  companion  through  life,  de- 
mand that  she  shall  neither  think  nor  do  anything 
without  telling  him,  either  before  or  afterward  ?  Does 
the  word  marriage  mean  renouncing  all  liberty  and 
independence?  Was  is  not  quite  possible  that  she 
was  going  to  the  dressmaker's  without  telling  me,  or 
that  she  was  going  to  assist  the  family  of  one  of  the 
coachmen?  Or  she  might  have  thought  that  I  might 
criticise,  if  not  blame,  her  visit  to  the  house.  She 
knew  me  thoroughly,  and  my  slightest  peculiarities, 
and  perhaps  she  feared  a  discussion,  even  if  she  did 
not  think  that  I  should  find  fault  with  her.  She  had 
very  pretty  hands,  and  I  ended  by  supposing  that  she 
was  having  them  secretly  attended  to  by  the  mani- 
cure in  the  house  which  I  suspected,  and  that  she 
did  not  tell  me  of  it  for  fear  that  I  should  think  her 
extravagant.  She  was  very  methodical  and  economical, 
and  looked  after  all  her  household  duties  most  care- 
fully, and  no  doubt  she  thought  that  she  should 
lower  herself  in  my  eyes,  were  she  to  confess  that 
slight  piece  of  feminine  extravagance.     Women   have 


THE   TAILOR'S   DAUGHTER  HI 

very   many  subtleties    and   innate   intricacies   in   their 
souls! 

"But  none  of  my  own  arguments  reassured  me. 
I  was  jealous,  and  I  felt  that  my  suspicion  was  affect- 
ing me  terribly,  that  I  was  being  devoured  by  it.  1 
felt  secret  grief  and  anguish,  and  a  thought  which  I 
still  veiled.  I  did  not  dare  to  lift  the  veil,  for  be- 
neath it  I  should  find  a  terrible  doubt.  A  lover? 
Had  not  she  a  lover?  It  was  unlikely,  impossible.  A 
mere  dream  —  and  yet? 

"I  continually  saw  Montina's  face  before  my  eyes. 
I  saw  the  tall,  silly-looking,  handsome  man,  with 
his  bright  hair,  smiling  into  her  face,  and  I  said  to 
myself:  '  He  is  the  one. '  1  concocted  a  story  of 
their  intrigues.  They  had  talked  a  book  over  to- 
gether, had  discussed  the  love  adventures  it  contained, 
had  found  something  in  it  that  resembled  them,  and 
they  had  turned  that  analogy  into  reality.  And  so  I 
watched  them,  a  prey  to  the  most  terrible  sufferings 
that  a  man  can  endure.  1  bought  shoes  with  india- 
rubber  soles,  so  that  I  might  be  able  to  walk  about 
the  house  without  making  any  noise,  and  I  spent  half 
my  time  in  going  up  and  down  my  little  spiral  stair- 
case, in  the  hope  of  surprising  them,  but  I  always 
found  that  the  clerk  was  with  them. 

"1  lived  in  a  constant  state  of  suffering,  I  could 
no  longer  work  nor  attend  to  my  business.  As  soon 
as  I  went  out,  as  soon  as  I  had  walked  a  hundred 
yards  along  the  street,  I  said  to  myself:  'He  is  there!' 
and  when  1  found  he  was  not  there,  I  went  out 
again!  But  almost  immediately,  I  went  back  again, 
thinking:  'He  has  come  now!'  and  that  went  on 
every  day. 


112  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"At  night  it  was  still  worse,  for  I  felt  her  by  my 
side  in  bed  asleep,  or  pretending  to  be  asleep!  Was 
she  really  sleeping?  No,  most  likely  not.  Was  that 
another  lie? 

"1  remained  motionless  on  my  back,  hot  from  the 
warmth  of  her  body,  panting  and  tormented.  Oh! 
how  intensely  I  longed  to  get  up,  to  get  a  hammer 
and  to  split  her  head  open,  so  as  to  be  able  to  see 
inside  it!  I  knew  that  I  should  have  seen  nothing 
except  what  is  to  be  found  in  every  head,  and  I 
should  have  discovered  nothing,  for  that  would  have 
been  impossible.  And  her  eyes!  When  she  looked 
at  me,  I  felt  furious  with  rage.  I  looked  at  her — she 
looked  at  me!  Her  eyes  were  transparent,  candid  — 
and  false,  false!  Nobody  could  tell  what  she  was 
thinking  of,  and  I  felt  inclined  to  run  pins  into  them 
and  to  destroy  those  mirrors  of  falseness. 

"Ah!  how  well  1  could  understand  the  Inquisition! 
I  would  have  applied  the  torture,  the  boot —  Speak! 
Confess!  You  will  not?  Then  wait!  And  1  would 
have  seized  her  by  the  throat  until  I  choked  her.  Or 
else  1  would  have  held  her  fingers  into  the  fire.  Oh! 
how  I  should  have  enjoyed  doing  it!  Speak!  Speak! 
You  will  not?  I  would  have  held  them  on  the  coals, 
and  when  the  tips  were  burned,  she  would  have 
confessed  —  certainly  she  would  have  confessed!" 

Tremoulin  was  sitting  up,  shouting,  with  clenched 
fists.  Around  us,  on  the  neighboring  roofs,  people 
awoke  and  sat  up,  as  he  was  disturbing  their  sleep. 
As  for  me,  I  was  moved  and  powerfully  interested, 
and  in  the  darkness  1  could  see  that  little  woman, 
that  little,  fair,  lively,  artful  woman,  as  if  I  had  known 
her  personally.     I  saw  her  selling  her  books,  talking 


THE   TAILOR'S    DAUGHTER 


113 


with  the  men  whom  her  childish  ways  attracted,  and 
in  her  delicate,  doIl-Hke  head,  1  could  see  little  crafty 
ideas,  silly  ideas,  the  dreams  which  a  milliner  smell- 
ing of  musk  attaches  to  all  heroes  of  romantic  ad- 
ventures. I  suspected  her  just  as  he  did,  I  hated  and 
detested  her,  and  would  willingly  have  burned  her 
fingers  and  made  her  confess. 

Presently,  he  continued  more  calmly:  "I  do  not 
know  why  I  have  told  you  all  this,  for  1  have  never 
mentioned  it  to  anyone,  but  then  1  have  not  seen 
anybody  for  two  years!  And  it  was  seething  in  my 
heart  like  a  fermenting  wine.  I  have  got  rid  of  it, 
and  so  much  the  worse  for  you.  Well,  I  had  made  a 
mistake,  but  it  was  worse  than  I  thought,  much 
worse.  Just  listen.  I  employed  the  means  which  a 
man  always  does  under  such  circumstances,  and  pre- 
tended that  1  was  going  to  be  away  from  home  for 
a  day,  and  whenever  1  did  this  my  wife  went  out  to 
lunch.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  I  bribed  a  waiter  in 
the  restaurant  to  which  they  used  to  go,  so  that  I 
might  surprise  them. 

"He  was  to  open  the  door  of  their  private  room 
for  me.  I  arrived  at  the  appointed  time,  with  the 
fixed  determination  of  killing  them  both.  I  could  see 
the  whole  scene,  just  as  if  it  had  already  occurred! 
I  could  see  myself  going  in.  A  small  table  covered 
with  glasses,  bottles,  and  plates  separated  her  from 
Montina.  They  would  be  so  surprised  when  they 
saw  me  that  they  would  not  even  attempt  to  move, 
and  without  a  word,  1  should  bring  down  the  loaded 
stick  which  1  had  in  my  hand  on  the  man's  head. 
Killed  by  one  blow,  he  would  fall  with  his  head  on 
the   table,    and    then,    turning    toward    her,    I    should 

*    G.  de  M.— 8 


114 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


leave  her  a  few  moments  to  understand  it  all  and  to 
stretch  out  her  arms  toward  me,  mad  with  terror, 
before  dying  in  her  turn.  Oh!  I  was  ready,  strong, 
determined,  and  pleased,  madly  pleased  at  the  idea. 
The  idea  of  the  terrified  look  that  she  would  throw 
at  my  raised  stick,  of  her  arms  that  she  would  stretch 
out  to  me,  of  her  horrified  cry,  of  her  livid  and  con- 
vulsed looks,  avenged  me  beforehand.  I  would  not 
kill  her  at  one  blow.  You  will  think  me  cruel,  I 
daresay;  but  you  do  not  know  what  a  man  suffers. 
To  think  that  a  woman,  whether  she  be  wife  or 
mistress,  whom  one  loves,  gives  herself  to  another, 
yields  herself  up  to  him  as  she  does  to  you,  and  re- 
ceives kisses  from  his  lips,  as  she  does  from  yours! 
It  is  a  terrible,  an  atrocious  thing  to  think  of.  When 
one  feels  that  torture,  one  is  ready  for  anything.  1 
only  wonder  that  more  women  are  not  murdered,  for 
every  man  who  has  been  deceived  longs  to  commit 
murder,  has  dreamed  of  it  in  the  solitude  of  his  own 
room,  or  on  a  deserted  road,  and  has  been  haunted 
by  the  one  fixed  idea  of  satisfied  vengeance. 

"I  arrived  at  the  restaurant,  and  asked  whether 
they  were  there.  The  waiter  whom  I  had  bribed  re- 
plied: 'Yes,  Monsieur,'  and  taking  me  upstairs,  he 
pointed  to  a  door,  and  said:  'That  is  the  room!'  So 
I  grasped  my  stick,  as  if  my  fingers  had  been  made 
of  iron,  and  went  in.  I  had  chosen  a  most  appropri- 
ate moment,  for  they  were  kissing  most  lovingly,  but 
it  was  not  Montina,  it  was  General  de  la  Fleche,  who 
was  sixty-six  years  old.  I  had  so  fully  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  should  find  the  other  one  there,  I  was 
motionless  from  astonishment. 

"And  then  —  and  then  1  really  do  not  quite  know 


THE  TAILOR'S   DAUGHTER  II5 

what  I  thought,  no,  I  really  do  not  know.  If  I  had 
found  myself  face  to  face  with  the  other,  1  should 
have  been  convulsed  with  rage,  but  on  seeing  this 
old  man,  with  fat  stomach  and  pendulous  cheeks,  I 
was  nearly  choked  with  disgust.  She,  who  did  not 
look  fifteen,  small  and  slim  as  she  was,  had  given 
herself  to  this  fat  man,  who  was  nearly  paralyzed, 
because  he  was  a  marquis  and  a  general,  the  friend 
and  representative  of  dethroned  kings.  No,  I  do  not 
know  what  I  felt,  nor  what  1  thought.  1  could  not 
have  lifted  my  hand  against  this  old  man;  it  would 
have  been  a  disgrace  to  me,  and  I  no  longer  felt  in- 
clined to  kill  my  wife,  but  all  women  who  could  be 
guilty  of  such  things!  I  was  no  longer  jealous,  but 
felt  distracted,  as  if  I  had  seen  the  horror  of  horrors! 

"Let  people  say  what  they  like  of  men,  they  are 
not  so  vile  as  that!  If  a  man  is  known  to  have 
given  himself  up  to  an  old  woman  in  that  fashion, 
people  point  their  finger  at  him.  The  husband  or 
lover  of  an  old  woman  is  more  despised  than  a  thief. 
We  men  are  a  decent  lot,  as  a  rule,  but  many  women, 
especially  in  Paris,  are  absolutely  bad.  They  will  give 
themselves  to  all  men,  old  or  young,  from  the  most 
contemptible  and  different  motives,  because  it  is  their 
profession,  their  vocation,  and  their  function.  They 
are  the  eternal,  unconscious,  and  serene  prostitutes, 
who  give  up  their  bodies,  because  they  are  the  mer- 
chandise of  love,  which  they  sell  or  give,  to  the  old 
man  who  frequents  the  pavements  with  money  in  his 
pocket,  or  else  for  glory,  to  a  lecherous  old  king,  or 
to  a  celebrated  and  disgusting  old  man." 

He  vociferated  like  a  prophet  of  old,  in  a  furious 
voice,  under  the   starry  sky,  and   with  the    rage   of  a 


Il6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

man  in  despair  he  repeated  all  the  glorified  disgrace 
of  the  mistresses  of  old  kings,  the  respectable  shame 
of  those  virgins  who  marry  old  husbands,  the  toler- 
ated disgrace  of  those  young  women,  who  accept  old 
kisses  with  a  smile. 

1  could  see  them,  as  he  evoked  their  memory, 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world,  surging  round  us 
in  that  Eastern  night,  girls,  beautiful  girls,  with  vile 
souls,  who,  like  the  lower  animals  who  know  noth- 
ing of  the  age  of  the  male,  are  docile  to  senile  desires. 
They  rose  up  before  one,  the  handmaids  of  the  patri- 
archs, who  are  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  Hagar,  Ruth, 
the  daughters  of  Lot,  Abigail,  Abishag;  the  virgin  of 
Shunam,  who  reanimated  David  with  her  caresses 
when  he  was  dying,  and  the  others,  young,  stout, 
white,  patricians  or  plebeians,  irresponsible  females 
belonging  to  a  master,  and  submissive  slaves,  whether 
caught  by  the  attraction  of  royalty  or  bought  as 
slaves ! 

"What  did  you  do?"    I  asked. 

"I  went  away,"  he  replied  simply.  And  we  re- 
mained sitting  side  by  side  for  a  long  time  without 
speaking,  only  dreaming!  * 

I  have  retained  an  impression  of  that  evening  that 
will  never  be  dispelled.  All  that  I  saw,  felt,  and 
heard,  our  fishing  excursion,  the  octopus  also,  per- 
haps that  harrowing  story,  amid  those  white  figures 
on  the  neighboring  roofs,  all  seemed  to  concur  in 
producing  a  unique  sensation.  Certain  meetings,  cer- 
tain inexplicable  combinations  of  things,  contain  a 
larger  quantity  of  the  secret  quintessence  of  life  than 
that  which  is  spread  over  the  ordinary  events  of  our 
days,  when  nothing  exceptional  happens. 


THE    AVENGER 


w 


HEN  M.  Antoine  Leuillet  mar- 
ried   the   Widow   Mathilde 
Souris,  he  had  been  in  love 
with  her  for  nearly  ten  years. 

M.  Souris  had  been   his  friend, 

his  old  college  chum.    Leuillet  was 

very  fond   of  him,  but   found   him 

rather  a  muff.     He  often  used  to  say: 

"That  poor  Souris  will  never  set  the 

Seine  on  fire." 

When  Souris  married  Mile.  Mathilde 
Duval,  Leuillet  was  surprised  and  some- 
gs.1^-  what  vexed,  for  he  had  a  slight  weakness 
•^  for  her.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  neighbor 
of  his,  a  retired  haberdasher  with  a  good  deal  of 
money.  She  v/as  pretty,  well-mannered,  and  intel- 
ligent. She  accepted  Souris  on  account  of  his  money. 
Then  Leuillet  cherished  hopes  of  another  sort.  He 
bc'gan  paying  attentions  to  his  friend's  wife.  He  was 
a  handsome  man,  not  at  all  stupid,  and  also  well  off. 
He  was  confident  that  he  would  succeed;  he  failed. 
Then  he  fell  really  in   love  with  her,  and  he  was  the 

(|'7) 


Il8  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

sort  of  lover  who  is  rendered  timid,  prudent,  and  em- 
barrassed by  intimacy  with  the  husband.  Mme. 
Souris  fancied  that  he  no  longer  meant  anything  se- 
rious by  his  attentions  to  her,  and  she  became  simply 
his  friend.     This  state  of  affairs  lasted  nine  years. 

Now,  one  morning,  Leuillet  received  a  startling 
communication  from  the  poor  woman.  Souris  had 
died  suddenly  of  aneurism  of  the  heart. 

He  got  a  terrible  shock,  for  they  were  of  the  same 
age;  but,  the  very  next  moment,  a  sensation  of  pro- 
found joy,  of  infinite  relief,  of  deliverance,  penetrated 
his  body  and  soul.     Mme.  Souris  was  free. 

He  had  the  tact,  however,  to  make  such  a  display 
of  grief  as  the  occasion  required;  he  waited  for  the 
proper  time  to  elapse,  and  attended  to  all  the  con- 
ventional usages.  At  the  end  of  fifteen  months,  he 
married  the  widow. 

His  conduct  was  regarded  as  not  only  natural  but 
generous.  He  had  acted  like  a  good  friend  and  an 
honest    man.     In   short,  he   was  happy,  quite  happy. 

They  lived  on  terms  of  the  closest  confidence, 
having  from  the  first  understood  and  appreciated  each 
other.  One  kept  nothing  secret  from  the  other,  and 
they  told  each  other  their  inmost  thoughts.  Leuillet 
now  loved  his  wife  with  a  calm,  trustful  affection;  he 
loved  her  as  a  tender,  devoted  partner,  who  is  an 
equal  and  a  confidant.  But  there  still  lingered  in  his 
soul  a  singular  and  unaccountable  grudge  against  the 
deceased  Souris,  who  had  been  the  first  to  possess 
this  woman,  who  had  had  the  flower  of  her  youth 
and  of  her  soul,  and  who  had  even  robbed  her  of  her 
poetic  attributes.  The  memory  of  the  dead  husband 
spoiled  the  happiness  of  the  living  husband;  and  this 


THE   AVENGER 


119 


posthumous  jealousy  now  began  to  torment  Leuillet's 
heart  day  and  night. 

The  result  was  that  he  was  incessantly  talking 
about  Souris,  asking  a  thousand  minute  and  intimate 
questions  about  him,  and  seeking  for  information  as 
to  all  his  habits  and  personal  characteristics.  And  he 
pursued  him  with  railleries  even  into  the  depths  of 
the  tomb,  recalling  with  self-satisfaction  his  oddities, 
emphasizing  his  absurdities,  and  pointing  out  his  de- 
fects. 

Constantly  he  would  call  out  to  his  wife  from  one 
end  to  the  other  of  the  house: 
.    "Hallo,  Mathilde!" 

"Here  I  am,  dear." 

"Come  and  let  us  have  a  chat." 

She  always  came  over  to  him,  smiling,  well  aware 
that  Souris  was  to  be  the  subject  of  the  chat,  and 
anxious  to  gratify  her  second  husband's  harmless  fad. 

"I  say!  do  you  remember  how  Souris  wanted  one 
day  to  prove  to  me  that  small  men  are  always  bet- 
ter loved  than  big  men?" 

And  he  launched  out  into  reflections  unfavorable  to 
the  defunct  husband,  who  was  small,  and  discreetly 
complimentary  to  himself,  as  he  happened  to  be  tall. 

And  Mme.  Leuillet  let  him  think  that  he  was  quite 
right;  and  she  laughed  very  heartily,  turned  the  first 
husband  into  ridicule  in  a  playful  fashion  for  the 
amusement  of  his  successor,  who  always  ended  by 
remarking: 

"Never  mind!     Souris  was  a  muff!" 

They  were  happy,  quite  happy.  And  Leuillet  never 
ceased  to  testify  his  unabated  attachment  to  his  wife 
by  all  the  usual  manifestations. 


I20  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Now,  one  night,  when  they  happened  to  be  both 
kept  awake  by  a  renewal  of  youthful  ardor,  Leuillet, 
who  held  his  wife  clasped  tightly  in  his  arms  and 
had  his  lips  glued  to  hers,  said: 

"Tell  me  this,  darling." 

"What?" 

"Souris  —  'tisn't  easy  to  put  the  question  —  was  he 
very  —  very  loving?" 

She  gave  him  a  warm  kiss,  as  she  murmured: 

"Not  as  much  as  you,  my  sweet." 

His  male  vanity  was  flattered,  and  he  went  on: 

"He  must  have  been  —  rather  a  flat  —  eh?" 

She  did  not  answer.  There  was  merely  a  sly  lit- 
tle laugh  on  her  face,  which  she  pressed  close  to  her 
husband's  neck. 

He  persisted  in  his  questions: 

"Come  nowl  Don't  deny  that  he  was  a  flat- 
well,  I  mean,  rather  an  awkward  sort  of  fellow?" 

She  nodded  slightly. 

"Well,  yes,  rather  awkward." 

He  went  on: 

"I'm  sure  he  used  to  weary  you  many  a  night  — 
isn't  that  so?" 

This  time  she  had  an  access  of  frankness,  and  she 
replied: 

"Oh!  yes." 

He  embraced  her  once  more  when  she  made  this 
acknowledgment,  and  murmured: 

"What  an  ass  he  was!  You  were  not  happy  with 
him?'^ 

She  answered: 

"No.     He  was  not  always  jolly." 

Leuillet  felt  quite  delighted,  making  a  comparison 


THE   AVENGER  121 

in  his  own  mind   between  his  wife's  former  situation 
and  her  present  one. 

He  remained  silent  for  some  time;  then,  with  a 
fresh  outburst  of  curiosity,  he  said: 

"Tell  me  this!" 

"What?" 

"Will  you  be  quite  candid  —  quite  candid  with 
me?" 

"Certainly,  dear." 

"Well,  look  here!  Were  you  never  tempted  to  — 
to  deceive  this  imbecile,  Souris?" 

Mme.  Leuillet  uttered  a  little  "Oh!"  in  a  shame- 
faced way,  and  again  cuddled  her  face  closer  to  her 
husband's  chest.  But  he  could  see  that  she  was 
laughing. 

He  persisted: 

"Come  now,  confess  it!  He  had  a  head  just  suited 
for  a  cuckold,  this  blockhead!  It  would  be  so  funny! 
The  good  Souris!  Oh!  I  say,  darling,  you  might  tell 
it  to  me  —  only  to  me!" 

He  emphasized  the  words  "to  me,"  feeling  certain 
that  if  she  wanted  to  show  any  taste  when  she 
deceived  her  husband,  he,  Leuillet,  would  have  been 
the  man;  and  he  quivered  with  joy  at  the  expecta- 
tion of  this  avowal,  sure  that  if  she  had  not  been 
the  virtuous  woman  she  was  he  could  have  won  her 
then. 

But  she  did  not  reply,  laughing  incessantly  as  if 
at  the  recollection  of  something  infinitely  comic. 

Leuillet,  in  his  turn,  burst  out  laughing  at  the  no- 
tion that  he  might  have  made  a  cuckold  of  Souris. 
What  a  good  joke!  What  a  capital  lot  of  fun,  to  be 
sure! 


132  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

He  exclaimed  in  a  voice  broken  by  convulsions  of 
laughter: 

"Oh!  poor  Sourisl  poor  Souris!  Ah!  yes,  he  had 
that  sort  of  head  —  oh,  certainly  he  had!" 

And  Mme.  Leuillet  now  twisted  herself  under  the 
sheets,  laughing  till  the  tears  almost  came  into  her  eyes. 

And  Leuillet  repeated:  "Come,  confess  it!  con- 
fess it!  Be  candid.  You  must  know  that  it  cannot 
be  unpleasant  to  me  to  hear  such  a  thing." 

Then  she  stammered,  still   choking  with   laughter: 

"Yes,  yes." 

Her  husband  pressed  her  for  an  answer: 

"Yes,  what.?     Look  here!  tell  me  everything." 

She  was  now  laughing  in  a  more  subdued  fashion, 
and,  raising  her  mouth  up  to  Leuillet's  ear,  which 
was  held  toward  her  in  anticipation  of  some  pleasant 
piece  of  confidence  she  whispered:  ''Yes  —  1  did  de- 
ceive him!" 

He  felt  a  cold  shiver  down  his  back,  and  utterly 
dumfounded,  he  gasped: 

"You — you  —  did  —  really  —  deceive  him  ?" 

She  was  still  under  the  impression  that  he  thought 
the  thing  infinitely  pleasant,  and  replied: 

"  Yes  —  really  —  really. " 

He  was  obliged  to  sit  up  in  bed  so  great  was  the 
shock  he  received,  holding  his  breath,  just  as  over- 
whelmed as  if  he  had  just  been  told  that  he  was  a 
cuckold  himself.  At  first  he  was  unable  to  articulate 
properly;  then  after  the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  so,  he 
merely  ejaculated: 

"Ah!" 

She,  too,  had  stopped  laughing  now,  realizing  her 
mistake  too  late. 


THE   AVENGER 


123 


Leuillet,  at  length  asked: 

"And  with  "whom  ?" 

She  kept  silent,  cudgeling  her  brain  to  find  some 
excuse. 

He  repeated  his  question: 

"With  whom?" 

At  last,  she  said: 

"With  a  young  man." 

He  turned  toward  her  abruptly,  and  in  a  dry  tone, 
said: 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  wasn't  with  some  kitchen- 
slut.  I  ask  you  who  was  the  young  man  —  do  you 
understand  ?" 

She  did  not  answer.  He  tore  away  the  sheet 
which  she  had  drawn  over  her  head  and  pushed  her 
into  the  middle  of  the  bed,  repeating: 

"I  want  to  know  with  what  young  man  —  do  you 
understand.?" 

Then,  she  repHed,  having  some  difficulty  in  utter- 
ing the  words: 

"I  only  wanted  to  laugh."  But  he  fairly  shook 
with  rage: 

"What?  How  is  that?  You  only  wanted  to 
laugh?  So  then  you  were  making  game  of  me?  I'm 
not  going  to  be  satisfied  with  these  evasions,  let 
me  tell  you!  I  ask  you  what  was  the  young  man's 
name?" 

She  did  not  reply,  but  lay  motionless  on  her 
back. 

He  caught  hold  of  her  arm  and  pressed  it  tightly: 

"Do  you  hear  me,  I  say?  1  want  you  to  give 
me  an  answer  when  1  speak  to  you." 

Then  she  said,  in  nervous  tones: 


124 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


**I  think  you  must  be  going  mad!  Let  me 
alone!" 

He  trembled  with  fury,  so  exasperated  that  he 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying,  and,  shaking  her 
with  all  his  strength,  he  repeated: 

"Do  you  hear  me?  do  you  hear  me?" 

She  wrenched  herself  out  of  his  grasp  with  a  sud- 
den movement  and  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
slapped  her  husband  on  the  nose.  He  entirely  lost 
his  temper,  feeling  that  he  had  been  struck,  and 
angrily  pounced  down  on  her. 

He  now  held  her  under  him,  boxing  her  ears  in  a 
most  violent  manner,  and  exclaiming: 

"Take  that  —  and  that  —  and  that  —  there  you  are, 
you  trollop,  you  strumpet — you  strumpet!" 

Then  when  he  was  out  of  breath,  exhausted  from 
beating  her,  he  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  bureau 
to  get  himself  a  glass  of  sugared  orange-water, 
almost  ready  to  faint  after  his  exertion. 

And  she  lay  huddled  up  in  bed,  crying  and 
heaving  great  sobs,  feeling  that  there  was  an  end  of 
her  happiness,  and  that  it  was  all  her  own  fault. 

Then  in  the  midst  of  her  tears,  she  faltered: 

"Listen,  Antoine,  come  here!  I  toid  you  a  lie  — 
listen!     I'll  explain  it  to  you." 

And  now,  prepared  to  defend  herself,  armed  with 
excuses  and  subterfuges,  she  sHghtly  raised  her  head 
all  disheveled  under  her  crumpled  nightcap. 

And  he  turning  toward  her,  drew  close  to  her, 
ashamed  at  having  whacked  her,  but  feeling  still  in 
his  heart's  core  as  a  husband  an  inexhaustible  hatred 
against  the  woman  who  had  deceived  his  predeces- 
sor, Souris. 


THE    CONSERVATORY 


M' 


ONSiEUR  and  Mme,  Lerebour  were 
about  the  same  age.  But  Monsieur 
looked  younger,  although  he  was 
the  weaker  of  the  two.  They  lived 
near  Mantes  in  a  pretty  estate  which 
they  had  bought  after  having  made  a 
fortune  by  selling  printed  cottons. 
The  house  was  surrounded  by  a 
,..  beautiful  garden  containing  a  poultry 
yard,  Chinese  kiosqiies,  and  a  little  con- 
servatory at  the  end  of  the  avenue.  M. 
^  Lerebour  was  short,  round,  and  jovial,  with 
A:  the  joviality  of  a  shopkeeper  of  epicurean 
t&^  tastes.  His  wife,  lean,  self-willed,  and  always 
/  discontented,  had  not  succeeded  in  overcoming 
her  husband's  good-humor.  She  dyed  her  hair,  and 
sometimes  read  novels,  which  made  dreams  pass 
through  her  soul,  although  she  affected  to  despise  writ- 
ings of  this  kind.  People  said  she  was  a  woman  of 
strong  passions  without  her  having  ever  done  any- 
thing to  sustain  that  opinion.  But  her  husband 
sometimes  said:  "My  wife  is  a  gay  woman,"  with  a 
certain  knowing  air  which  awakened  suppositions. 

('25) 


126  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

For  some  years  past,  however,  she  had  shown 
herself  aggressive  toward  M.  Lerebour,  always  irritated 
and  hard,  as  if  a  secret  and  unavowable  grief  tor- 
mented her.  A  sort  of  misunderstanding  was  the  re- 
sult. They  scarcely  spoke  to  each  other,  and  Madame, 
whose  name  was  Palmyre,  was  incessantly  heaping 
unkind  compliments,  wounding  allusions,  bitter  words, 
without  any  apparent  reason,  on  Monsieur,  whose 
name  was  Gustave. 

He  bent  his  back,  bored  though  gay,  all  the  same, 
endowed  with  such  a  fund  of  contentment  that  he 
endured  her  domestic  bickerings.  He  asked  himself, 
nevertheless,  what  unknown  cause  could  have  thus  em- 
bittered his  spouse,  for  he  had  a  strong  feeling  that 
her  irritation  had  a  hidden  reason,  but  so  difficult  to 
penetrate  that  his  efforts  to  do  so  were  in  vain. 

He  often  said  to  her:  "Look  here,  my  dear,  tell 
me  what  you  have  against  me.  1  feel  that  you  are 
concealing  something." 

She  invariably  replied:  "But  there  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  me,  absolutely  nothing.  Besides,  if  I 
had  some  cause  for  discontent,  it  would  be  for  you 
to  guess  at  it.  I  don't  like  men  who  understand 
nothing,  who  are  so  soft  and  incapable  that  one  must 
come  to  their  assistance  to  make  them  grasp  the 
slightest  thing." 

He  murmured  dejectedly:  "I  see  clearly  that  yoi- 
don't  want  to  say  anything." 

And  he  went  away  still  striving  to  unravel  thu 
mystery. 

The  nights  especially  became  very  painful  to  him, 
for  they  always  shared  the  same  bed,  as  one  does  in 
good  and   simple    households.     It  was    not,  therefore, 


THE   CONSERVATORY 


127 


mere  ordinary  ill-temper  that  she  displayed  toward 
him.  She  chose  the  moment  when  they  were  lying 
side  by  side  to  load  him  with  the  liveliest  raillery. 
She  reproached  him  principally  with  his  corpulence: 
"You  take  up  all  the  room,  you  are  becoming  so 
fat." 

And  she  forced  him  to  get  up  on  the  slightest 
pretext,  sending  him  downstairs  to  look  for  a  news- 
paper she  had  forgotten,  or  a  bottle  of  orange-water, 
which  he  failed  to  find  as  she  had  herself  hidden  it 
away.  And  she  exclaimed  in  a  furious  and  sarcastic 
tone:  "You  might,  however,  know  where  to  find  it, 
you  big  booby!"  When  he  had  been  wandering 
about  the  sleeping  house  for  a  whole  hour,  and  re- 
turned to  the  room  empty-handed,  the  only  thanks 
she  gave  him  was  to  say:  "Come,  get  back  to  bed, 
it  will  make  you  thin  to  take  a  little  walking;  you 
are  becoming  as  flabby  as  a  sponge." 

She  kept  waking  him  every  moment  by  declaring 
that  she  was  suffering  from  cramps  in  her  stomach, 
and  insisting  on  his  rubbing  her  with  flannel  soaked 
in  eau  de  Cologne.  He  would  make  efforts  to  cure 
her,  grieved  at  seeing  her  ill,  and  would  propose  to 
go  and  rouse  up  Celeste,  their  maid.  Then  she  would 
get  angry,  crying:  "You  must  be  a  fool.  Well!  it  is 
over;  I  am  better  now,  so  go  back  to  bed,  you  big 
lout." 

To  his  question:  "Are  you  quite  sure  you  have 
got  better.^"  she  would  fling  this  harsh  answer  in  his 
face: 

"Yes,  hold  your  tongue!  let  me  sleep!  Don't 
worry  me  any  more  about  it!  You  are  incapable  of 
doing  anything,  even  of  rubbing  a  woman." 


128  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANi 

He  got  into  a  state  of  deep  dejection:  "But,  my 
darling — " 

She  became  exasperated:  "I  want  no  'buts.' 
Enough,  isn't  it?  Give  me  some  rest  now."  And 
she   turned   her   face  to  the   wall. 

Now,  one  night,  she  shook  him  so  abruptly  that 
he  started  up  in  terror,  and  found  himself  in  a  sitting 
posture  with  a  rapidity  which  was  not  habitual  to 
him.     He  stammered: 

"What.?    What's  the  matter?" 

She  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  pinched  him  till 
he  cried  out.  Then  she  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear: 
"I  hear  some  noise  in  the  house." 

Accustomed  to  the  frequent  alarms  of  Mme.  Lere- 
bour,  he  did  not  disturb  himself  very  much,  and 
quietly  asked: 

"What  sort  of  noise,  my  darling?" 

She  trembled,  as  if  she  were  in  a  state  of  terror, 
and  replied:  "Noise  —  why,  noise  —  the  noise  of 
footsteps.     There  is  some  one." 

He  remained  incredulous:  "Some  one?  You  think 
so?  But  no;  you  must  be  mistaken.  Besides,  whom 
do  you  think  it  can  be?" 

She   shuddered: 

"Who?  Who?  Why,  thieves,  of  course,  you  im- 
becile!" 

He  plunged  softly  under  the  sheets: 

"Ah!  no,  my  darling!  There  is  nobody.  I  dare 
say  you  only  dreamed  it." 

Then,  she  flung  off  the  coverlet,  and,  jumping  out 
of  bed,  in  a  rage:  "Why,  then,  you  are  just  as 
cowardly  as  you  are  incapable!  In  any  case,  I  shall 
not  let  myself  be  massacred    owing   to   your  pusilla- 


THE  CONSERVATORY  12Q 

nimity."  And  snatching  up  the  tongs  from  the  fire- 
place, she  placed  herself  in  a  fighting  attitude  in 
front  of  the  bolted  door. 

Moved  by  his  wife's  display  of  valor,  perhaps 
ashamed,  he  rose  up  in  his  turn  sulkily,  and  without 
taking  off  his  nightcap  he  seized  the  shovel,  and 
placed  himself  face  to  face  with  his  better  half. 

They  waited  for  twenty  minutes  in  the  deepest 
silence.  No  fresh  noise  disturbed  the  repose  of  the 
house.  Then,  Madame,  becoming  furious,  got  back 
into  bed  saying:  "Nevertheless  I'm  sure  there  is  some 
one." 

In  order  to  avoid  anything  like  a  quarrel,  he  did 
not  make  an  allusion  during  the  next  day  to  this 
panic.  But,  next  night,  Mme.  Lerebour  woke  up 
her  husband  with  more  violence  still  than  the  night 
before,  and,  panting,  she  stammered:  "Gustave, 
Gustave,  somebody  has  just  opened  the  garden- 
gate!" 

Astonished  at  this  persistence,  he  fancied  that  his 
wife  must  have  had  an  attack  of  somnambulism,  and 
was  about  to  make  an  effort  to  shake  off  this  danger- 
ous state  when  he  thought  he  heard,  in  fact,  a  slight 
sound  under  the  walls  of  the  house.  He  rose  up, 
rushed  to  the  window,  and  he  saw  —  yes,  he  saw  — 
a  white  figure  quickly  passing  along  one  of  the 
garden-walks. 

He  murmured,  as  if  he  were  on  the  point  of  faint- 
ing: "There  is  some  one."  Then,  he  recovered  his 
self-possession,  felt  more  resolute,  and  suddenly  carried 
away  by  the  formidable  anger  of  a  proprietor  whose 
territory  has  been  encroached  upon,  he  said:  "Wait! 
wait,  and  you  shall  see!" 

5    C.  de  M.— 9 


i^o 


WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 


He  rushed  toward  the  writing-desk,  opened  it, 
took  out  the  revolver,  and  dashed  out  into  the  stairs. 
His  wife,  filled  with  consternation,  followed  him,  ex- 
claiming: "Gustave,  Gustave,  don't  abandon  me, 
don't  leave   me   alone!     Gustave!    Gustave!" 

But  he  scarcely  heard  her;  he  had  by  this  time  laid 
his  hand  on  the  garden-gate. 

Then  she  went  back  rapidly  and  barricaded  her- 
self in  the  conjugal  chamber. 


* 


She  waited  five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Wild  terror  took  possession  of  her.  With- 
out doubt,  they  had  killed  him;  they  had  seized, 
garroted,  strangled  him.  She  would  have  preferred 
to  hear  the  report  of  the  six  barrels  of  the  revolver, 
to  know  that  he  was  fighting,  that  he  was  defending 
himself.  But  this  great  silence,  this  terrifying  silence 
of  the  country  overwhelmed  her. 

She  rang  for  Celeste.  Celeste  did  not  come  in 
answer  to  the  bell.  She  rang  again,  on  the  point  of 
swooning,  of  sinking  into  unconsciousness.  The  en- 
tire house  remained  without  a  sound.  She  pressed 
her  burning  forehead  to  the  window,  seeking  to  peer 
through  the  darkness  without.  She  distinguished 
nothing  but  the  blacker  shadows  of  a  row  of  trees 
beside  the  gray  ruts  on  the  roads. 

It  struck  half  past  twelve.  Her  husband  had  been 
absent  for  forty-five  minutes.  She  would  never  see 
him  again.  No!  she  would  never  see  him  again. 
And  she  fell  on  her  knees  sobbing. 

Two  light  knocks  at  the  door  of  the  apartment 
made   her   spring    up    with    a   bound.     M.    Lerebour 


THE  CONSERVATORY  I3I 

called  out  to  her:  "Open,  pray,  Palmyre  —  'tis  I." 
She  rushed  forward,  opened  the  door,  and  standing  in 
front  of  him,  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and  her  eyes 
full  of  tears,  exclaimed:  "Where  have  you  been,  you 
dirty  brute?  Ah!  you  left  me  here  by  m.yself  nearly 
dead  of  fright.  You  care  no  more  about  me  than  if 
I  never  existed." 

He  closed  the  bedroom  door;  then  he  laughed  and 
laughed  like  a  madman,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear, 
with  his  hands  on  his  sides,  till  the  tears  came  into 
his  eyes. 

Mme.  Lerebour,  stupefied,  remained  silent. 

He  stammered:  "It  was  —  it  was  —  Celeste,  who 
had  an  appointment  in  the  conservatory.  If  you  knew 
what — what  I  have  seen — " 

She  had  turned  pale,  choking  with  indignation. 

"Eh?  Do  you  tell  me  so?  Celeste?  In  my 
house?  in  —  my  —  house  —  in  my  —  my  —  in  my  con- 
servatory. And  you  have  not  killed  the  man  who 
was  her  accomplice!  You  had  a  revolver  and  did  not 
kill  him?    In  my  house  —  in  my  house." 

She  sat  down,  not  feeling  able  to  do  anything. 

He  danced  a  caper,  snapped  his  fingers,  smacked 
his  tongue,  and,  still  laughing:  "If  you  knew  —  if 
you  knew — "     He  suddenly  gave  her  a  kiss. 

She  tore  herself  away  from  him,  and  in  a  voice 
broken  with  rage,  she  said:  "1  will  not  let  this  girl 
remain  one  day  longer  in  my  house,  do  you  hear? 
Not  one  day  —  not  one  hour.  When  she  returns  to 
the  house,  we  will  throw  her  out." 

M.  Lerebour  had  seized  his  wife  by  the  waist,  and 
he  planted  rows  of  kisses  on  her  neck,  loud  kisses, 
as   in   bvgoTie   days.     She  becam.e  silent   once   more, 


132 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


petrified    with    astonishment.     But    he,    holding    her 

clasped  in  his  arms,  drew  her  softly  toward  the  bed. 

******* 

Toward  half  past  nine  in  the  morning,  Celeste, 
astonished  at  not  having  yet  seen  her  master  and 
mistress,  who  always  rose  early,  came  and  knocked 
softly  at  their  door. 

They  were  in  bed,  and  were  gaily  chatting  side 
by  side.  She  stood  there  astonished,  and  said: 
"Madame,  it  is  the  coffee." 

Mme.  Lerebour  said  in  a  very  soft  voice:  "Bring 
it  here  to  me,  my  girl.  We  are  a  little  tired;  we 
have  slept  very  badly." 

Scarcely  had  the  servant-maid  gone  than  M.  Lere- 
bour began  to  laugh  again,  tickling  his  wife  under 
the  chin,  and  repeating:  "  If  you  knew.  Oh!  if  you 
knew." 

But  she  caught  his  hands:  "Look  here!  keep 
quiet,  my  darling,  if  you  laugh  like  this  you  will 
make  yourself  ill." 

And  she  kissed  him  softly  on  the  eyes. 
******* 

Mme.  Lerebour  has  no  more  fits  of  sourness. 
Sometimes  on  bright  nights  the  husband  and  wife 
come,  with  furtive  steps,  along  by  the  clumps  of 
trees  and  flower-beds  as  far  as  the  little  conservatory 
at  the  end  of  the  garden.  And  they  remain  there 
planted  side  by  side  with  their  faces  pressed  against 
the  glass  as  if  they  were  looking  at  something  strange 
and  full  of  interest  going  on  within. 

They  have  increased  Celeste's  wages. 

But  M,  Lerebour  has  got  thin. 


LETTER    FOUND    ON    A 
CORPSE 


ou  ask  me,  Madame,  whether  I  am 
laughing    at   you  ?    You    cannot 
believe  that  a  man  has  never  been 
smitten  with  love.     Well,  no,  I  have 
never  loved,  never! 
What  is  the  cause  of  this?     I  really 
cannot  tell.     Never  have  I  been  under 
the  influence  of  that  sort  of  intoxication 
of  the  heart  which  we  call  love!     Never 
have  I  lived  in  that  dream,  in  that  exalta- 
tion, in  that   state  of  madness   into  which 
y**/  the  image   of  a   woman   casts   us.      1    have 

&;  never  been  pursued,  haunted,  roused  to  fever- 

f'  heat,  lifted   up    to    Paradise  by  the  thought  of 

meeting,  or  by  the  possession  of,  a  being  who  had 
suddenly  become  for  me  more  desirable  than  any 
good  fortune,  more  beautiful  than  any  other  creature, 
more  important  than  the  whole  world!  I  have  never 
wept,  1  have  never  suffered  on  account  of  any  of 
you.  I  have  not  passed  my  nights  thinking  of  one 
woman  without  closing  my  eyes.  1  have  no  experi- 
ence of  waking  up  with   the   thought  and   the   mem- 

('33) 


134 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


ory  of  her  shedding  their  illumination  on  me.  I  have 
never  known  the  wild  desperation  of  hope  when  she 
was  about  to  come,  or  the  divine  sadness  of  regret 
when  she  parted  with  me,  leaving  behind  her  in  the 
room  a  delicate  odor  of  violet-powder. 

1  have  never  been  in  love. 

I,  too,  have  often  asked  myself  why  is  this.  And 
truly  I  can  scarcely  tell.  Nevertheless,  I  have  found 
some  reasons  for  it;  but  they  are  of  a  metaphysical 
character,  and  perhaps  you  will  not  be  able  to  ap- 
preciate them. 

1  suppose  I  sit  too  much  in  judgment  on  women  to 
submit  much  to  their  fascination.  I  ask  you  to  for- 
give me  for  this  remark.  I  am  going  to  explain  what 
I  mean.  In  every  creature  there  is  a  moral  being  and 
a  physical  being.  In  order  to  love,  it  would  be  nec- 
essary for  me  to  find  a  harmony  between  these  two 
beings  which  I  have  never  found.  One  has  always 
too  great  a  predominance  over  the  other,  sometimes 
the  moral,  sometimes  the  physical. 

The  intellect  which  we  have  a  right  to  require  in 
a  woman,  in  order  to  love  her,  is  not  the  same  as 
virile  intellect.  It  is  more  and  it  is  less.  A  woman 
must  have  a  mind  open,  delicate,  sensitive,  refined, 
impressionable.  She  has  no  need  of  either  power  or 
initiative  in  thought,  but  she  must  have  kindness,  ele- 
gance, tenderness,  coquetry,  and  that  faculty  of  assim- 
ilation which,  in  a  little  while,  raises  her  to  an  equality 
with  him  who  shares  her  life.  Her  greatest  quality 
must  be  tact,  that  subtle  sense  which  is  to  the  mind 
what  touch  is  to  the  body.  It  reveals  to  her  a  thou- 
safid  little  things,  contours,  angles,  and  forms  in  the 
intellectual  life. 


LETTER  FOUND  ON   A  CORPSE 


»35 


Very  frequently  pretty  women  have  not  intellect 
to  correspond  with  their  personal  charms.  Now  the 
slightest  lack  of  harmony  strikes  me  and  pains  me  at 
the  first  glance.  In  friendship,  this  is  not  of  impor- 
tance. Friendship  is  a  compact  in  which  one  fairly 
divides  defects  and  merits.  We  may  judge  of  friends, 
whether  man  or  woman,  take  into  account  the  good 
they  possess,  neglect  the  evil  that  is  in  them,  and  ap- 
preciate their  value  exactly,  while  giving  ourselves  up 
to  an  intimate  sympathy  of  a  deep  and  fascinating 
character. 

In  order  to  love,  one  must  be  blind,  surrender 
oneself  absolutely,  see  nothing,  reason  from  nothing, 
understand  nothing.  One  must  adore  the  weakness 
as  well  as  the  beauty  of  the  beloved  object,  renounce 
all  judgment,  all  reflection,  all  perspicacity. 

I  am  incapable  of  such  blindness,  and  rebel  against 
a  seductiveness  not  founded  on  reason.  T-  is  is  not 
all.  I  have  such  a  high  and  subtle  idea  of  harmony 
that  nothing  can  ever  realize  my  ideal.  But  you  will 
call  me  a  madman.  Listen  to  me.  A  woman,  in  my 
opinion,  may  have  an  exquisite  soul  and  a  charming 
body  without  that  body  and  that  soul  being  in  perfect 
accord  with  one  another.  I  mean  that  persons  who 
have  noses  made  in  a  certain  shape  are  not  to  be  ex- 
pected to  think  in  a  certain  fashion.  The  fat  have  no 
right  to  make  use  of  the  same  words  and  phrases  as 
the  thin.  You,  who  have  blue  eyes,  Madame,  cannot 
look  at  life,  and  judge  of  things  and  events  as  if  you 
had  black  eyes.  The  shades  of  your  eyes  should  cor- 
respond, by  a  sort  of  fatality,  with  the  shades  of  your 
thought.  In  perceiving  these  things  I  have  the  scent 
of  a  bloodhound.     Laugh  if  you  like,  but  it  is  so. 


1^6  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  yet  I  imagined  that  I  was  in  love  for  an 
hour,  for  a  day.  I  had  foolishly  yielded  to  the  in- 
fluence of  surrounding  circumstances.  I  allowed  my- 
self to  be  beguiled  by  the  mirage  of  an  aurora. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  this  short  history? 


I  met,  one  evening,  a  pretty,  enthusiastic  woman 
who  wanted,  for  the  purpose  of  humoring  a  poetic 
fancy,  to  spend  a  night  with  me  in  a  boat  on  a  river. 
I  would  have  preferred  —  but,  no  matter,  I  consented. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June.  My  fair  companion 
chose  a  moonlight  night  in  order  to  excite  her  imag- 
ination all  the  better. 

We  had  dined  at  a  riverside  inn,  and  then  we  set 
out  in  the  boat  about  ten  o'clock.  I  thought  it  a 
rather  foolish  kind  of  adventure;  but  as  my  compan- 
ion pleased  me  I  did  not  bother  myself  too  much 
about  this.  I  sat  down  on  the  seat  facing  her,  seized 
the  oars,  and  off  we  started. 

I  could  not  deny  that  the  scene  was  picturesque. 
We  glided  past  a  wooded  isle  full  of  nightingales, 
and  the  current  carried  us  rapidly  over  the  river  cov- 
ered with  silvery  ripples.  The  grasshoppers  uttered 
their  shrill,  monotonous  cry;  the  frogs  croaked  in  the 
grass  by  the  river's  bank,  and  the  lapping  of  the 
water  as  it  flowed  on  made  around  us  a  kind  of  con- 
fused, almost  imperceptible  murmur,  disquieting,  which 
gave  us  a  vague  sensation  of  mysterious  fear. 

The  sweet  charm  of  warm  nights  and  of  streams 
glittering  in  the  moonlight  penetrated  us.  It  seemed 
bliss  to  live  and  to  float  thus,  to  dream  and  to  feel  by 
one's  side  a  young  woman  sympathetic  and  beautiful. 


LETTER   FOUND   ON   A   CORPSE 


137 


I  was  somewhat  affected,  somewhat  agitated,  some- 
what intoxicated  by  the  pale  brightness  of  the  night 
and  the  consciousness  of  my  proximity  to  a  lovely 
woman. 

"Come  and  sit  beside  me,"  she  said. 

I  obeyed.     She  went  on: 

"Recite  some  verses  for  me." 

This  appeared  to  me  rather  too  much.  I  declined; 
she  persisted.  She  certainly  wanted  to  have  the  ut- 
most pleasure,  the  whole  orchestra  of  sentiment,  from 
the  moon  to  the  rhymes  of  poets.  In  the  end,  I  had 
to  yield,  and,  as  if  in  mockery,  I  recited  for  her  a 
charming  little  poem  by  Louis  Bouilhet,  of  which  the 
following  are  a  few  strophes: 

' '  I  hate  the  poet  who  with  tearful  eye 

Murmurs  some  name  while  gazing  tow'rds  a  star, 
Who  sees  no  magic  in  the  earth  or  sky, 

Unless  Lizette  or  Ninon  be  not  far. 
The  bard  who  in  all  Nature  nothing  sees 

Divine,  unless  a  petticoat  he  ties 
Amorously  to  the  branches  of  the  trees, 

Or  nightcap  to  the  grass,  is  scarcely  wise. 
He  has  not  heard  the  eternal's  thundertone. 

The  voice  of  Nature  in  her  various  moods, 
He  cannot  tread  the  dim  ravines  alone, 

And  of  no  woman  dream  'mid  whispering  woods." 

I  expected  some  reproaches.  Nothing  of  the  sort. 
She  murmured: 

"How  true  it  is!" 

I  remained  stupefied.     Had  she  understood.^ 

Our  boat  was  gradually  drawing  nearer  to  the 
bank,  and  got  entangled  under  a  willow  which  im- 
peded its  progress.     I  drew  my  arm  around  my  com- 


138  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

panion's  waist,  and  very  gently  moved  my  lips  toward 
her  neck.  But  she  repulsed  me  with  an  abrupt,  angry 
movement: 

"Have  done,  pray!     You  are  rude!" 

I  tried  to  draw  her  toward  me.  She  resisted, 
caught  hold  of  the  tree,  and  nearly  upset  us  both 
into  the  water.  I  deemed  it  the  prudent  course  to 
cease  my  importunities. 

She  said: 

"1  would  rather  have  you  capsized.  I  feel  sO' 
happy.  I  want  to  dream  —  that  is  so  nice."  Then, 
in  a  slightly  malicious  tone,  she  added: 

"Have  you,  then,  already  forgotten  the  verses  you 
recited  for  me  just  now?" 

She  was  right.     I  became  silent. 

She  went  on: 

"Come!    row!" 

And  1  plied  the  oars  once  more.  I  began  to  find 
the  night  long  and  to  see  the  absurdity  of  my  con- 
duct.    My  companion  said  to  me: 

"Will  you  make  me  a  promise?" 

"Yes.     What  is  it?" 

"  To  remain  quiet,  well-behaved,  and  discreet,  if 
I  permit  you — " 

"What?    Say  what  you  mean!" 

"Here  is  what  1  mean!  I  want  to  lie  down  on 
my  back  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  with  you  by  my 
side.  But  I  forbid  you  to  touch  me,  to  embrace  me 
—  in  short  to  —  to  caress  me." 

1  promised.     She  warned  me: 

"If  you  move,  I'll  capsize  the  boat." 

And  then  we  lay  down  side  by  side,  our  eyes  turned 
toward  the  sky,  while  the  boat  glided  slowly  through 


LETTER   FOUND   ON   A   CORPSE 


139 


the  water.  We  were  rocked  by  the  gentle  move- 
ments of  the  shallop.  The  light  sounds  of  the  night 
came  to  us  more  distinctly  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
sometimes  causing  us  to  start.  And  I  felt  springing 
up  within  me  a  strange,  poignant  emotion,  an  infinite 
tenderness,  something  like  an  irresistible  impulse  to 
open  my  arms  in  order  to  embrace,  to  open  my 
heart  in  order  to  love,  to  give  myself,  to  give  my 
thoughts,  my  body,  my  life,  my  entire  being  to  some 
one. 

My  companion  murmured,  like  one  in  a  dream: 

"Where  are  we .^  Where  are  we  going.?  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  am  quitting  the  earth.  How  sweet  it  is! 
Ah!  if  you  loved  me  —  a  little!" 

My  heart  began  to  throb.  I  had  no  answer  to 
give.  It  seemed  to  me  that  1  loved  her.  I  had  no 
longer  any  violent  desire.  I  felt  happy  there  by  her 
side,  and  that  was  enough  for  me. 

And  thus  we  remained  for  a  long,  long  time  with- 
out stirring.  We  caught  each  other's  hands;  some 
delightful  force  rendered  us  motionless,  an  unknown 
force  stronger  than  ourselves,  an  alliance,  chaste,  in- 
timate, absolute,  of  our  persons  lying  there  side  by 
side  which  belonged  to  without  touching  each  other. 
What  was   this  ?     How  do   I    know  ?     Love,  perhaps. 

Little  by  little,  the  dawn  appeared.  It  was  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Slowly,  a  great  brightness 
spread  over  the  sky.  The  boat  knocked  against 
something.  I  rose  up.  We  had  come  close  to  a 
tiny  islet. 

But  I  remained  ravished,  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  In 
front  of  us  stretched  the  shining  firmament,  red,  rosy, 
violet,    spotted   with    fiery  clouds    resembling   golden 


140 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


vapors.     The   river    was    glowing    with    purple,    and 
three   houses   on   one   side  of  it  seemed  to  be  burn- 


ing. 


I  bent  toward  my  companion.  I  was  going  to  say: 
"Oh!  look!"  But  I  held  my  tongue,  quite  dazed, 
and  I  could  no  longer  see  anything  except  her.  She, 
too,  was  rosy,  with  the  rosy  flesh  tints  with  which 
must  have  mingled  a  little  the  hue  of  the  sky.  Her 
tresses  were  rosy;  her  eyes  were  rosy;  her  teeth  were 
rosy;  her  dress,  her  laces,  her  smile,  all  were  rosy. 
And  in  truth  I  believed,  so  overpowering  was  the 
illusion,  that  the  aurora  was  there  before  me. 

She  rose  softly  to  her  feet,  holding  out  her  lips  to 
me;  and  I  moved  toward  her,  trembling,  delirious, 
feeling  indeed  that  1  was  going  to  kiss  Heaven,  to 
kiss  happiness,  to  kiss  a  dream  which  had  become  a 
woman,  to  kiss  an  ideal  which  had  descended  into 
human  flesh. 

She  said  to  me:  "You  have  a  caterpillar  in  your 
hair."  And  suddenly  1  felt  myself  becoming  as  sad 
as  if  I  had  lost  all  hope  in  life. 

That  is  all,  Madame.  It  is  puerile,  silly,  stupid. 
But  I  am  sure  that  since  that  day  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  me  to  love.     And  yet  —  who  can  tell.? 

[The  young  man  upon  whom  this  letter  was  found  was  yester- 
day taken  out  of  the  Seine  between  Bougival  and  Marly,  An  oblig- 
ing bargeman,  who  had  searched  the  pockets  in  order  to  ascertain  the 
name  of  the  deceased,  brought  this  paper  to  the  author.] 


THE    LITTLE    CASK 


^i.'j!:^-  ..^rx>..-i         '■' ULES  Chicot,  the  innkeeper,  who  lived 

at  Epreville,   pulled    up   his   tilbury 
in  front  of  Mother  Magloire's  farm- 
house.    He  was  a  tall  man  of  about 
X^     forty,  fat  and  with  a  red  face  and  was 
generally  said    to    be    a  very  knowing 
customer. 
**  He  hitched  his  horse  up  to  the  gate- 

'   post  and  went  in.     He   owned   some   land 
adjoining  that  of  the   old  woman.     He  had 
J&>    been   coveting  her  plot  for  a  long  while,    and 
t^^  '    had   tried    in  vain   to  buy  it   a   score  of  times. 


Y^-  but  she  had  always  obstinately  refused  to  part 
>     with  it. 

"1  was  born  here,  and  here  I  mean  to  die,"  was 
all  she  said. 

He  found  her  peeling  potatoes  outside  the  farm- 
house door.  She  was  a  woman  of  about  seventy-two, 
very  thin,  shriveled  and  wrinkled,  almost  dried-up, 
in  fact,  and  much  bent,  but  as  active  and  untiring  as 
a  girl.  Chicot  patted  her  on  the  back  in  a  very 
friendly  fashion,  and  then  sat  down  by  her  on  a  stool. 

(  J4I  i 


142 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"Well,  Mother,  you  are  always  pretty  well  and 
hearty,  I  am  glad  to  see." 

"Nothing  to  complain  of,  considering,  thank  you. 
And  how  are  you.  Monsieur  Chicot?" 

"Oh!  pretty  well,  thank  you,  except  a  few  rheu- 
matic pains  occasionally;  otherwise,  I  should  have 
nothing  to  complain  of." 

"That's  all  the  better!" 

And  she  said  no  more,  while  Chicot  watched  her 
going  on  with  her  work.  Her  crooked,  knotty  fin- 
gers, hard  as  a  lobster's  claws,  seized  the  tubers, 
which  were  lying  in  a  pail,  as  if  they  had  been  a 
pair  of  pincers,  and  peeled  them  rapidly,  cutting  off 
long  strips  of  skin  with  an  old  knife  which  she  held 
in  the  other  hand,  throwing  the  potatoes  into  the 
water  as  they  were  done.  Three  daring  fowls  jumped 
one  after  the  other  into  her  lap,  seized  a  bit  of  peel, 
and  then  ran  away  as  fast  as  their  legs  would  carry 
them  with  it  in  their  beaks. 

Chicot  seemed  embarrassed,  anxious,  with  some- 
thing on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  which  he  could  not 
get  out.     At  last  he  said  hurriedly: 

"I  say.  Mother  Magloire  — " 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"You  are  quite  sure  that  you  do  not  want  to  sell 
your  farm  ?" 

"Certainly  not;  you  may  make  up  your  mind  to 
that.  What  I  have  said,  I  have  said,  so  don't  refer 
to  it  again." 

"Very  well;  only  I  fancy  1  have  thought  of  an 
arrangement  that  might  suit  us  both  very  well." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Here    you    are:     You    shall    sell    it    to    me,  and 


THE   LITTLE   CASK  1 43 

keep  it  all  the  same.  You  don't  understand  ?  Very 
well,  so  just  follow  me  in  what  I  am  going  to  say." 

The  old  woman  left  off  peeling  her  potatoes,  and 
looked  at  the  innkeeper  attentively  from  under  her 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  he  went  on: 

"Let  me  explain  myself:  Every  month  I  will 
give  you  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs.*  You  under- 
stand me,  1  suppose.?  Every  month  I  will  come  and 
bring  you  thirty  crowns,!  and  it  will  not  make  the 
slightest  difference  in  your  life  —  not  the  very 
slightest.  You  will  have  your  own  home  just  as  you 
have  now,  will  not  trouble  yourself  about  me,  and 
will  owe  me  nothing;  all  you  will  have  to  do  will 
be  to  take  my  money.  Will  that  arrangement  suit 
you?" 

He  looked  at  her  good-humoredly,  one  might  al- 
most have  said  benevolently,  and  the  old  woman  re- 
turned his  looks  distrustfully,  as  if  she  suspected  a 
trap,  and  said: 

"It  seems  all  right,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  but 
it  will  not  give  you  the  farm." 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  he  said,  "you  will  re- 
main here  as  long  as  it  pleases  God  Almighty  to  let 
you  live;  it  will  be  your  home.  Only  you  will  sign 
a  deed  before  a  lawyer  making  it  over  to  me  after 
your  death.  You  have  no  children,  only  nephews 
and  nieces  for  whom  you  don't  care  a  straw.  Will 
that  suit  you?  You  will  keep  everything  during 
your  life,  and  I  will  give  you  the  thirty  crowns  a 
month.     It  is  pure  gain  as  far  as  you  are  concerned." 


*As  near  as  possible  $30. 

f  The  old  name,  still  applied  locally  to  a  five-franc  piece. 


144 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


The  old  woman  was  surprised,  rather  uneasy,  but, 
nevertheless,  very  much  tempted  to  agree,  and  an- 
swered: 

"I  don't  say  that  I  will  not  agree  to  it,  but  I 
must  think  about  it.  Come  baci<;  in  a  week  and  we 
will  talk  it  over  again,  and  I  will  then  give  you  my 
definite  answer." 

And  Chicot  went  off,  as  happy  as  a  king  who 
had  conquered  an  empire. 

Mother  Magloire  was  thoughtful,  and  did  not  sleep 
at  all  that  night;  in  fact,  for  four  days  she  was  in  a 
fever  of  hesitation.  She  smelted,  so  to  say,  that  there 
was  something  underneath  the  offer  which  was  not 
to  her  advantage;  but  then  the  thought  of  thirty 
crowns  a  month,  of  all  those  coins  chinking  in  her 
apron,  falling  to  her,  as  it  were,  from  the  skies, 
without  her  doing  anything  for  it,  filled  her  with 
covetousness. 

She  went  to  the  notary  and  told  him  about  it. 
He  advised  her  to  accept  Chicot's  offer,  but  said  she 
ought  to  ask  for  a  monthly  payment  of  fifty  crowns 
instead  of  thirty,  as  her  farm  was  worth  sixty  thou- 
sand francs*  at  the  lowest  calculation, 

"If  you  live  for  fifteen  years  longer,"  he  said, 
"even  then  he  will  only  have  paid  forty-five  thousand 
francs  t  for  it." 

The  old  woman  trembled  with  joy  at  this  prospect 
of  getting  fifty  crowns  a  month;  but  she  was  still 
suspicious,  fearing  some  trick,  and  she  remained  a 
long  time  with  the  lawyer  asking  questions  without 
being  able  to  make  up  her  mind  to  go.     At  last  she 

*fi2ooo.  f$90oa 


THE   LITTLE   CASK  I^^ 

gave  him  instructions  to  draw  up  the  deed,  and  re- 
turned home  with  her  head  in  a  whirl,  just  as  if  she 
had  drunk  four  jugs  of  new  cider. 

When  Chicot  came  again  to  receive  her  answer 
she  took  a  lot  of  persuading,  and  declared  that  she 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  agree  to  his  proposal, 
though  she  was  all  the  time  on  tenter-hooks  lest  he 
should  not  consent  to  give  the  fifty  crowns.  At  last, 
when  he  grew  urgent,  she  told  him  what  she  ex- 
pected for  her  farm. 

He  looked  surprised  and  disappointed,  and  refused. 

Then,  in  order  to  convince  him,  she  began  to 
talk  about  the  probable  duration  of  her  life. 

"1  am  certainly  not  likely  to  live  for  more  than 
five  or  six  years  longer.  I  am  nearly  seventy-three, 
and  far  from  strong,  even  considering  my  age.  The 
other  evening  I  thought  1  was  going  to  die,  and  could 
hardly  manage  to  crawl  into  bed." 

But  Chicot  was  not  going  to  be  taken  in. 

"Come,  come,  old  lady,  you  are  as  strong  as 
the  church  tower,  and  will  live  till  you  are  a  hundred 
at  least;  you  will  be  sure  to  see  me  put  underground 
first." 

The  whole  day  was  spent  in  discussing  the 
money,  and  as  the  old  woman  would  not  give  way, 
the  landlord  consented  to  give  the  fifty  crowns,  and 
she  insisted  upon  having  ten  crowns  over  and  above 
to  strike  the  bargain. 

Three  years  passed  by,  and  the  old  dame  did  not 
seem  to  have  grown  a  day  older.  Chicot  was  in 
despair.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  been  paying 
that   annuity  for  fifty   years,   that   he  had  been  taken 

5    C   de  M.— lo 


146  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

in,  outwitted,  and  ruined.  From  time  to  time  he 
went  to  see  his  annuitant,  just  as  one  goes  in  July  to 
see  when  the  harvest  is  likely  to  begin.  She  always 
met  him  with  a  cunning  look,  and  one  would  have 
felt  inclined  to  think  that  she  was  congratulating  her- 
self on  the  trick  she  had  played  him.  Seeing  how 
well  and  hearty  she  seemed,  he  very  soon  got  into 
his  tilbury  again,  growling  to  himself: 

"Will  you  never  die,  you  old  brute?" 

He  did  not  know  what  to  do,  and  felt  inclined  to 
strangle  her  when  he  saw  her.  He  hated  her  with  a 
terocious,  cunning  hatred,  the  hatred  of  a  peasant 
who  has  been  robbed,  and  began  to  cast  about  for 
means  of  getting  rid  of  her. 

One  day  he  came  to  see  her  again,  rubbing  his 
hands  like  he  did  the  first  time  when  he  proposed 
the  bargain,  and,  after  having  chatted  for  a  few  min- 
utes, he  said: 

"Why  do  you  never  come  and  have  a  bit  of  din- 
ner at  my  place  when  you  are  in  Epreville?  The 
people  are  talking  about  it  and  saying  that  we  are 
not  on  friendly  terms,  and  that  pains  me.  You  know 
it  will  cost  you  nothing  if  you  come,  for  I  don't  look 
at  the  price  of  a  dinner.  Come  whenever  you  feel 
inclined;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Old  Mother  Magloire  did  not  need  to  be  tol() 
twice,  and  the  next  day  but  one  —  she  was  going 
to  the  town  in  any  case,  it  being  market-day,  in  hei 
gig,  driven  by  her  man  —  she,  without  any  demur, 
put  her  trap  up  in  Chicot's  stable,  and  went  in  search 
of  her  promised  dinner. 

The  publican  was  delighted,  and  treated  her  like  a 
princess,  giving  her  roast  fowl,  black  pudding,  leg  of 


THE   LITTLE   CASK  I^n 

mutton,  and  bacon  and  cabbage.  But  she  ate  next  to 
nothing.  She  had  always  been  a  small  eater  and 
had  generally  lived  on  a  little  soup  and  a  crust  of 
bread-and-butter. 

Chicot  was  disappointed,  and  pressed  her  to  eat 
more,  but  she  refused.  She  would  drink  next  to 
nothing  either,  and  declined  any  coffee,  so  he  asked 
her: 

"But  surely,  you  will  take  a  little  drop  of  brandy 
or  liquor.?" 

"Well,  as  to  that,  I  don't  know  that  I  will  re- 
fuse."    Whereupon  he  shouted  out: 

"Rosalie,  bring  the  superfine  brandy, —  the  special, 
— you  know." 

The  servant  appeared,  carrying  a  long  bottle  orna- 
mented with  a  paper  vine-leaf,  and  he  filled  two 
hquor  glasses. 

"Just  try  that;  you  will  find  it  first-rate." 

The  good  woman  drank  it  slowly  in  sips,  so  as 
tG  make  the  pleasure  last  all  the  longer,  and  when 
she  had  finished  her  glass,  draining  the  last  drops  so 
as  to  make  sure  of  all,  she  said: 

"Yes,  that  is  first-rate!" 

Almost  before  she  had  said  it,  Chicot  had  poured 
her  out  another  glassful.  She  wished  to  refuse,  but 
it  was  too  late,  and  she  drank  it  very  slowly,  as  she 
had  done  the  first,  and  he  asked  her  to  have  a  third. 
She  objected,  but  he  persisted. 

"It  is  as  mild  as  milk,  you  know.  I  can  drink 
ten  or  a  dozen  without  any  ill  effect;  it  goes  down 
like  sugar,  and  leaves  no  headache  behind;  one  would 
think  that  it  evaporated  on  the  tongue.  It  is  the 
most  wholesome  thing  you  can  drink." 


148  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

She  took  it,  for  she  really  wished  to  have  it,  but 
she  left  half  the  glass. 

Then  Chicot,  in  an  excess  of  generosity,  said: 

"Look  here,  as  it  is  so  much  to  your  taste,  I  will 
give  you  a  small  keg  of  it,  just  to  show  that  you 
and  1  are  still  excellent  friends."  Then  she  took 
her  leave,  feehng  slightly  overcome  by  the  effects  of 
what  she  had  drunk. 

The  next  day  the  innkeeper  drove  into  her  yard, 
and  took  a  little  iron-hooped  keg  out  of  his  gig.  He 
insisted  on  her  tasting  the  contents,  to  make  sure  it 
was  the  same  delicious  article,  and,  when  they  had 
each  of  them  drunk  three  more  glasses,  he  said,  as 
he  was  going  away: 

"Well,  you  know,  when  it  is  all  gone,  there  is 
more  left;  don't  be  modest,  for  I  shall  not  mind. 
The  sooner  it  is  finished  the  better  pleased  1  shall 
be." 

Four  days  later  he  came  again.  The  old  woman 
was  outside  her  door  cutting  up  the  bread  for  her 
soup. 

He  went  up  to  her,  and  put  his  face  close  to 
hers,  so  that  he  might  smell  her  breath;  and  when 
he  smelled  the  alcohol  he  felt  pleased. 

"I  suppose  you  will  give  me  a  glass  of  the 
special?"  he  said.  And  they  had  three  glasses 
each. 

Soon,  however,  it  began  to  be  whispered  abroad 
that  Mother  Magloire  was  in  the  habit  of  getting 
drunk  all  by  herself  She  was  picked  up  in  her 
kitchen,  then  in  her  yard,  then  in  the  roads  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  was  often  brought  home  like  a 
log. 


THE   LITTLE   CASK 


149 


Chicot  did  not  go  near  her  any  more,  and,  when 
people  spoke  to  him  about  her,  he  used  to  say,  put- 
ting on  a  distressed  look: 

"It  is  a  great  pity  that  she  should  have  taken  to 
drink  at  her  age;  but  when  people  get  old  there  is 
no  remedy.  It  will  be  the  death  of  her  in  the  long 
run." 

And  it  certainly  was  the  death  of  her.  She  died 
the  next  winter.  About  Christmas  time  she  fell 
down  unconscious  in  the  snow,  and  was  found  dead 
the  next  morning. 

And  when  Chicot  came  in  for  the  farm  he  said: 

"It  was  very  stupid  of  her;  if  she  had  not  taken 
to  drink  she  might  very  well  have  lived  for  ten  years 
longer." 


POOR    ANDREW 


'HE  lawyer's  house  looked  on  to  the 
Square.  Behind  it,  there  was  a 
nice,  well-kept  garden,  with  a 
back  entrance  into  a  narrow  street 
which  was  almost  always  deserted, 
and  from  which  it  was  separated  by 
a  wall. 
At  the  bottom  of  that  garden  Maitre  * 
Moreau's  wife  had  promised,  for  the  first 
time,  to  meet  Captain  Sommerive,  who  had 
been  making  love  to  her  for  a  long  time. 
Her  husband  had  gone  to  Paris  for  a  week, 
so  she  was  quite  free  for  the  time  being.  The 
Captain  had  begged  so  hard,  and  had  used  such 
loving  words;  she  was  certain  that  he  loved  her  so 
ardently,  and  she  felt  so  isolated,  so  misunderstood, 
so  neglected  amid  all  the  law  business  which  seemed 
to  be  her  husband's  sole  pleasure,  that  she  had  given 
away  her  heart  without  even  asking  herself  whether 
he  would  give  her  anything  else  at  some  future  time. 


*  Maitre  (Master)  is  the  official  title  of  French  lawyers. 
(150) 


POOR  ANDREW 


151 


Then,  after  some  months  of  Platonic  love,  of  press- 
ing of  hands,  of  kisses  rapidly  stolen  behind  a  door, 
the  Captain  had  declared  that  he  would  ask  permis- 
sion to  exchange,  and  leave  the  town  immediately,  if 
she  would  not  grant  him  a  meeting,  a  real  meeting, 
during  her  husband's  absence.  So  at  length  she 
yielded  to  his  importunity. 

Just  then  she  was  waiting,  close  against  the  wall, 
with  a  beating  heart,  trembling  at  the  slightest  sound, 
and  when  at  length  she  heard  somebody  climbing  up 
the  wall,  she  very  nearly  ran  away. 

Suppose  it  were  not  he,  but  a  thief.?  But  no; 
some  one  called  out  softly,  "Matilda!"  and  when  she 
replied,  "Etienne!"  a  man  jumped  on  to  the  path 
with  a  crash. 

It  was  he, — and  what  a  kiss  I 

For  a  long  time  they  remained  in  each  other's  arms, 
with  united  lips.  But  suddenly  a  fine  rain  began  to 
fall,  and  the  drops  from  the  leaves  fell  on  to  her  neck 
and  made  her  start.     Whereupon  he  said: 

"Matilda,  my  adored  one,  my  darling,  my  angel, 
let  us  go  indoors.  It  is  twelve  o'clock,  we  can  have 
nothing  to  fear;  please  let  us  go  in." 

"No,  dearest;  I  am  too  frightened." 

But  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  whispered  in  her 
ear: 

"Your  servants  sleep  on  the  third  floor,  looking 
on  to  the  Square,  and  your  room,  on  the  first,  looks 
on  to  the  garden,  so  nobody  can  hear  us.  I  love  you 
so  that  I  wish  to  love  you  entirely,  from  head  to 
foot."     And  he  embraced  her  vehemently. 

She  resisted  still,  frightened  and  even  ashamed. 
But    he    put    his    arms    round    her,  lifted  her  up,  and 


152  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

carried  her  off  through   the   rain,  which  was  by  this 
time  descending  in  torrents. 

The  door  was  open;  they  groped  their  way  up- 
stairs; and  when  they  were  in  the  room  he  bolted 
the  door  while  she  lit  a  candle. 

Then  she  fell,  half  fainting,  into  a  chair,  while  he 
kneeled  down  beside  her. 

At  last,  she  said,  panting: 

"No!  no!  Etienne,  please  let  me  remain  a  virtuous 
woman;  I  should  be  too  angry  with  you  afterward; 
and  after  all,  it  is  so  horrid,  so  common.  Cannot 
we  love  each  other  with  a  spiritual  love  only.^  Oh! 
Etienne!  " 

But  he  was  inexorable,  and  then  she  tried  to  get 
up  and  escape  from  his  attacks.  In  her  fright  she 
ran  to  the  bed  in  order  to  hide  herself  behind  the 
curtains;  but  it  was  a  dangerous  place  of  refuge,  and 
he  followed  her.  But  in  haste  he  took  off  his  sword 
too  quickly,  and  it  fell  on  to  the  floor  with  a  crash. 
And  then  a  prolonged,  shrill  child's  cry  came  from  the 
next  room,  the  door  of  which  had  remained  open. 

"You  have  awakened  the  child,"  she  whispered, 
"and  perhaps  he  will  not  go  to  sleep  again." 

He  was  only  fifteen  months  old  and  slept  in  a 
room  opening  out  of  hers,  so  that  she  might  be  able 
to  hear  him. 

The  Captain  exclaimed  ardently: 

"What  does  it  matter,  Matilda?  How  I  love  you; 
you  must  come  to  me,  Matilda." 

But  she  struggled   and  resisted  in  her  fright. 

"No!  no!  Just  listen  how  he  is  crying;  he  will 
wake  up  the  nurse,  and  what  should  we  do  if  she 
were  to  come?    We   should  be   lost.     Just  listen  to 


POOR   ANDREW  1 53 

me,  Etienne.  When  he  screams  at  night  his  father 
always  takes  him  into  our  bed,  and  he  is  quiet  im- 
mediately; it  is  the  only  means  of  keeping  him  still. 
Do  let  me  take  him." 

The  child  roared,  uttering  shrill  screams,  which 
pierced  the  thickest  walls  and  could  be  heard  by 
passers-by  in  the  streets. 

In  his  consternation  the  Captain  got  up,  and  Ma- 
tilda jumped  out  and  took  the  child  into  her  bed, 
when  he  was  quiet  at  once. 

Etienne  sat  astride  on  a  chair,  and  made  a  ciga- 
rette, and  in  about  five  minutes  Andrew  went  to 
sleep  again. 

"I  will  take  him  back,"  his  mother  said;  and  she 
took  him  back  very  carefully  to  his  bed. 

When  she  returned,  the  Captain  was  waiting  for 
her  with  open  arms,  and  put  his  arms  round  her  in 
a  transport  of  love,  while  she,  embracing  him  more 
closely,  said,  stammering: 

"Oh!  Etienne,  my  darling,  if  you  only  knew  how 
I  love  you;  how — " 

Andrew  began  to  cry  again,  and  he,  in  a  rage, 
exclaimed: 

"Confound  it  all,  won't  the  little  brute  be  quiet .^" 

No,  the  little  brute  would  not  be  quiet,  but 
howled  all  the  louder,  on  the  contrary. 

She  thought  she  heard  a  noise  downstairs;  no 
doubt  the  nurse  was  coming,  so  she  jumped  up  and 
took  the  child  into  bed,  and  he  grew  quiet  directly. 

Three  times  she  put  him  back,  and  three  times 
she  had  to  fetch  him  again,  and  an  hour  before  day- 
break the  Captain  had  to  go,  swearing  like  the  pro- 
verbial trooper;   and,  to  calm    his  impatience,  Matilda 


154 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


promised  to  receive  him  again  the  next  night.  Of 
course  he  came,  more  impatient  and  ardent  than 
ever,  excited  by  the  delay. 

He  took  care  to  put  his  sword  carefully  into  a 
corner;  he  took  oflf  his  boots  like  a  thief,  and  spoke 
so  low  that  Matilda  could  hardly  hear  him.  At  last, 
he  was  just  going  to  be  really  happy  when  the  floor, 
or  some  piece  of  furniture,  or  perhaps  the  bed  itself, 
creaked;  it  sounded  as  if  something  had  broken;  and 
in  a  moment  a  cry,  feeble  at  first,  but  which  grew 
louder  every  moment,  made  itself  heard.  Andrew 
was  awake  again. 

He  yapped  like  a  fox,  and  there  was  not  the 
slightest  doubt  that  if  he  went  on  like  that  the  whole 
house  would  awake;  so  his  mother,  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  got  up  and  brought  him.  The  Captain 
was  more  furious  than  ever,  but  did  not  move,  and 
very  carefully  he  put  out  his  hand,  took  a  small 
piece  of  the  child's  skin  between  his  two  fingers,  no 
matter  where  it  was,  the  thighs  or  elsewhere,  and 
pinched  it.  The  little  one  struggled  and  screamed  in 
a  deafening  manner,  but  his  tormentor  pinched  every- 
where, furiously  and  more  vigorously.  He  took  a 
morsel  of  flesh  and  twisted  and  turned  it,  and  then 
let  go  in  order  to  take  hold  of  another  piece,  and 
then  another  and  another. 

The  child  screamed  like  a  chicken  having  its 
throat  cut,  or  a  dog  being  mercilessly  beaten.  His 
mother  caressed  him,  kissed  him,  and  tried  to  stifle 
his  cries  by  her  tenderness;  but  Andrew  grew  purple, 
as  if  he  were  going  into  convulsions,  and  kicked  and 
struggled  with  his  little  arms  and  legs  in  an  alarming 
manner. 


POOR   ANDREW 


155 


The  Captain  said,  softly: 

"Try  and  take  him  back  to  his  cradle;  perhaps 
he  will  be  quiet." 

And  Matilda  went  into  the  other  room  with  the 
child  in  her  arms.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  his 
mother's  bed  he  cried  less  loudly,  and  when  he  was 
in  his  own  he  was  quiet,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  broken  sobs.     The  rest  of  the  night  was  tranquil. 

The  next  night  the  Captain  came  again.  As  he 
happened  to  speak  rather  loudly,  Andrew  awoke 
again  and  began  to  scream.  His  mother  went  and 
fetched  him  immediately,  but  the  Captain  pinched  so 
hard  and  long  that  the  child  was  nearly  suffocated  by 
its  cries,  its  eyes  turned  in  its  head  and  it  foamed  at 
the  mouth.  As  soon  as  it  was  back  in  its  cradle  it 
was  quiet,  and  in  four  days  Andrew  did  not  cry  any 
more  to  come  into  his  mother's  bed. 

On  Saturday  evening  the  lawyer  returned,  and 
took  his  place  again  at  the  domestic  hearth  and  in  the 
conjugal  chamber.  As  he  was  tired  with  his  journey 
he  went  to  bed  early;  but  he  had  not  long  Iain  down 
when  he  said  to  his  wife: 

"Why,  how  is  it  that  Andrew  is  not  crying? 
Just  go  and  fetch  him,  Matilda;  I  like  to  feel  that  he 
is  between  us." 

She  got  up  and  brought  the  child,  but  as  soon  as 
he  saw  that  he  was  in  that  bed,  in  which  he  had 
been  so  fond  of  sleeping  a  few  days  previous,  he 
wriggled  and  screamed  so  violently  in  his  fright  that 
she  had  to  take  him  back  to  his  cradle. 

M.  Moreau  could  not  get  over  his  surprise.  "What 
a  very  funny  thing!  What  is  the  matter  with  him 
this  evening?    I  suppose  he  is  sleepy?" 


156  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"He  has  been  like  that  all  the  time  that  you  were 
away;  1  have  never  been  able  to  have  him  in  bed 
with  me  once." 

In  the  morning  the  child  woke  up  and  began  to 
laugh  and  play  with  his  toys. 

The  lawyer,  who  was  an  affectionate  man,  got 
up,  kissed  his  offspring,  and  took  him  into  his  arms 
to  carry  him  to  their  bed.  Andrew  laughed,  with 
that  vacant  laugh  of  little  creatures  whose  ideas  are 
still  vague.  He  suddenly  saw  the  bed  and  his  mother 
in  it,  and  his  happy  little  face  puckered  up,  till  sud- 
denly he  began  to  scream  furiously,  and  struggled  as 
if  he  were  going  to  be  put  to  the  torture. 

In  his  astonishment  his  father  said: 

"There  must  be  something  the  matter  with  the 
child,"  and  mechanically  he  lifted  up  his  little  night- 
shirt. 

He  uttered  a  prolonged  "O  —  o  —  h!"  of  astonish- 
ment. The  child's  calves,  thighs,  and  buttocks  were 
covered  with  blue  spots  as  big  as  half-pennies. 

"Just  look,  Matilda!"  the  father  exclaimed;  "this 
is  horrible!"  And  the  mother  rushed  forward  in  a 
fright.  It  was  horrible;  no  doubt  the  beginning  of 
some  sort  of  leprosy,  of  one  of  those  strange  affec- 
tions of  the  skin  which  doctors  are  often  at  a  loss  to 
account  for.  The  parents  looked  at  one  another  in 
consternation. 

"We  must  send  for  the  doctor,"   the  father  said. 

But  Matilda,  pale  as  death,  was  looking  at  her 
child,  who  was  spotted  like  a  leopard.  Then  sud- 
denly uttering  a  violent  cry  as  if  she  had  seen  some- 
thing that  filled  her  with  horror,  she  exclaimed: 

"Oh I  the  wretch!" 


POOR  ANDREW  1 57 

In  his  astonishment  M.  Moreau  asked:  "What 
are  you  talking  about?    What  wretch?" 

She  got  red  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  stam- 
mered: 

"Oh,  nothing!  but  I  think  I  can  guess  —  it  must 
be  —  we  ought  to  send  for  the  doctor.  It  must  be 
that  wretch  of  a  nurse  who  has  been  pinching  the 
poor  child  to  make  him   keep  quiet  when  he  cries." 

In  his  rage  the  lawyer  sent  for  the  nurse,  and 
very  nearly  beat  her.  She  denied  it  most  impudently, 
but  was  instantly  dismissed,  and  the  Municipality 
having  been  informed  of  her  conduct,  she  will  find  it 
a  hard  matter  to  get  another  situation. 


A    FISHING    EXCURSION 


3  ^i^ 


^-i'S.^ 


P 


ARis  was  blockaded,  desolate,  famished. 
The    sparrows  were  few,   and    any- 
thing that  was  to  be  had  was  good 
to  eat. 

On  a  bright  morning  in  January,  Mr. 

Morissot,  a  watchmaker  by  trade,  but 

idler  through  circumstances,  was  walking 

along  the   boulevard,  sad,    hungry,    with 

his  hands   in  the   pockets   of  his    uniform 

trousers,  when  he   came  face  to   face  with 

a  brother-in-arms  whom  he  recognized  as  an 

"V    old-time  friend. 

Before  the  war,  Morissot  could  be  seen  at 
daybreak  every  Sunday,  trudging  along  with  a 
cane  in  one  hand  and  a  tin  box  on  his  back.  He 
would  take  the  train  to  Colombes  and  walk  from  there 
to  the  Isle  of  Marante  where  he  would  fish  until  dark. 
It  was  there  he  had  met  Mr.  Sauvage  who  kept  a 
little  notion  store  in  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette, 
a  jovial  fellow  and  passionately  fond  of  fishing  like 
himself.  A  warm  friendship  had  sprung  up  between 
these  two  and  they  would  fish   side   by  side  all  day, 


A   FISHING   EXCURSION 


159 


very  often  without  saying  a  word.  Some  days,  when 
everything  looked  fresh  and  new  and  the  beautiful 
spring  sun  gladdened  every  heart,  Mr.  Morissot  would 
exclaim: 

"How  delightful!"  and  Mr.  Sauvage  would  an- 
swer: 

"There  is  nothing  to  equal  it." 

Then  again  on  a  fall  evening,  when  the  glorious 
setting  sun,  spreading  its  golden  mantle  on  the  already 
tinted  leaves,  would  throw  strange  shadows  around 
the  two  friends,  Sauvage  would  say: 

"What  a  grand  picture!" 

"It  beats  the  boulevard!"  would  answer  Morissot. 
But  they  understood  each  other  quite  as  well  without 
speaking. 

The  two  friends  had  greeted  each  other  warmly 
and  had  resumed  their  walk  side  by  side,  both  think- 
ing deeply  of  the  past  and  present  events.  They 
entered  a  cafe,  and  when  a  glass  of  absinthe  had 
been  placed  before  each  Sauvage  sighed: 

■'What  terrible  events,  my  friend!" 

"And  what  weather!"  said  Morissot  sadly;  "this 
is  the  first  nice  day  we  have  had  this  year.  Do  you 
remember  our  fishing  excursions?" 

"Do  1!     Alas!  when  shall  we  go  again!" 

After  a  second  absinthe  they  emerged  from  the 
cafe,  feeling  rather  dizzy  —  that  light-headed  effect 
which  alcohol  has  on  an  empty  stomach.  The  balmy 
air  had  made  Sauvage  exuberant  and  he  exclaimed: 

"Suppose  we  go!" 

"Where?" 

"Fishing." 

"Fishing!     Where?" 


l6o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"To  our  old  spot,  to  Colombes.  The  French  sol- 
diers are  stationed  near  there  and  I  know  Colonel 
Dumoulin  will  give  us  a  pass." 

"It's  a  go;  I  am  with  you." 

An  hour  after,  having  supplied  themselves  with 
their  fishing  tackle,  they  arrived  at  the  colonel's  villa. 
He  had  smiled  at  their  request  and  had  given  them  a 
pass  in  due  form. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  they  reached  the  advance- 
guard,  and  after  presenting  their  pass,  walked  through 
Colombes  and  found  themselves  very  near  their  desti- 
nation. Argenteuil,  across  the  way,  and  the  great 
plains  toward  Nanterre  were  all  deserted.  Solitary 
the  hills  of  Orgemont  and  Sannois  rose  clearly  above 
the  plains;    a  splendid  point  of  observation. 

"See,"  said  Sauvage  pointing  to  the  hills,  "the 
Prussians  are  there." 

Prussians!  They  had  never  seen  one,  but  they 
knew  that  they  were  all  around  Paris,  invisible  and 
powerful;  plundering,  devastating,  and  slaughtering. 
To  their  superstitious  terror  they  added  a  deep  hatred 
for  this  unknown  and  victorious  people. 

"What  if  we  should  meet  some?"   said  Morissot. 

"We  would  ask  them  to  join  us,"  said  Sauvage 
in  true  Parisian   style. 

Still  they  hesitated  to  advance.  The  silence 
frightened  them.  Finally  Sauvage  picked  up  cour- 
age. 

"Come,  let  us  go  on  cautiously." 

They  proceeded  slowly,  hiding  behind  bushes, 
looking  anxiously  on  every  side,  listening  to  every 
sound.  A  bare  strip  of  land  had  to  be  crossed  before 
reaching   the    river.     They    started   to    run.     At   last, 


A   FISHING    EXCURSION  l6i 

i 

they  reached  the  bank  and  sank  into  the  bushes; 
breathless,  but  reheved. 

Morissot  thought  he  heard  some  one  walking.  He 
Hstened  attentively,  but  no,  he  heard  no  sound. 
They  were  indeed  alone!  The  little  island  shielded 
them  from  view.  The  house  where  the  restaurant 
used  to  be  seemed  deserted;  feeling  reassured,  they 
settled  themselves  for  a  good  day's  sport. 

Sauvage  caught  the  first  fish,  Morissot  the  second; 
and  every  minute  they  would  bring  one  out  which 
they  would  place  in  a  net  at  their  feet.  It  was  in- 
deed miraculous!  They  felt  that  supreme  joy  which 
one  feels  after  having  been  deprived  for  months  of  a 
pleasant  pastime.  They  had  forgotten  everything; 
even  the  war! 

Suddenly,  they  heard  a  rumbling  sound  and  the 
earth  shook  beneath  them.  It  was  the  cannon  on 
Mont  Valerien.  Morissot  looked  up  and  saw  a  trail 
of  smoke,  which  was  instantly  followed  by  another 
explosion.     Then   they  followed   in    quick  succession. 

"They  are  at  it  again,"  said  Sauvage  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  Morissot,  who  was  naturally  peaceful, 
felt  a  sudden,  uncontrollable  anger. 

"Stupid  fools!  What  pleasure  can  they  find  in 
killing  each  other!  " 

"They  are  worse  than  brutes!" 

"It  will  always  be  thus  as  long  as  we  have  gov- 
ernments." 

"Well,  such  is  life!" 

"You  mean  death!"  said  Morissot  laughing. 

They  continued  to  discuss  the  different  political 
problems,  while  the  cannon  on  Mont  Valerien  sent 
death  and  desolation  among  the  French. 

S     G.  deM.— II 


l62  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Suddenly  they  started.  They  had  heard  a  step  be- 
hind them.  They  turned  and  beheld  four  big  men  in 
dark  uniforms,  with  guns  pointed  right  at  them. 
Their  fishing-lines  dropped  out  of  their  hands  and 
floated  away  with  the  current. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  Prussian  soldiers  had  bound 
them,  cast  them  into  a  boat,  and  rowed  across  the 
river  to  the  island  which  our  friends  had  thought  de- 
serted. They  soon  found  out  their  mistake  when 
they  reached  the  house,  behind  which  stood  a  score 
or  more  of  soldiers.  A  big  burly  officer,  seated  astride 
a  chair,  smoking  an  immense  pipe,  addressed  them 
in  excellent  French: 

-'Well,  gentlemen,  have  you  made  a  good  haul.?" 

just  then,  a  soldier  deposited  at  his  feet  the  net 
full  of  fish  which  he  had  taken  good  care  to  take 
along  with  him.     The  officer  smiled  and  said: 

"I  see  you  have  done  pretty  well;  but  let  us 
change  the  subject.  You  are  evidently  sent  to  spy 
upon  me.  You  pretended  to  fish  so  as  to  put  me  off 
the  scent,  but  I  am  not  so  simple.  I  have  caught 
you  and  shall  have  you  shot.  I  am  sorry,  but  war  is 
war.  As  you  passed  the  advance-guard  you  certainly 
must  have  the  password;  give  it  to  me,  and  I  will 
set  you  free." 

The  two  friends  stood  side  by  side,  pale  and 
slightly  trembling,  but  they  answered  nothing. 

"No  one  will  ever  know.  You  will  go  back 
home  quietly  and  the  secret  will  disappear  with  you. 
If  you  refuse,  it  is  instant  death!     Choose!" 

They  remained  motionless;  silent.  The  Prussian 
officer  calmly  pointed  to  the  river. 

"In  five  minutes  you  will  be  at  the  bottom  of  this 


A  FISHING  EXCURSION 


163 


river!  Surely,  you  have  a  family,  friends  waiting  for 
you?" 

Still  they  kept  silent.  The  cannon  rumbled  inces- 
santly. The  officer  gave  orders  in  his  own  tongue, 
then  moved  his  chair  away  from  the  prisoners. 
A  squad  of  men  advanced  within  twenty  feet  of  them, 
ready  ior  command. 

"I  give  you  one  minute;  not  a  second  morel' 

Suddenly  approaching  the  two  Frenchmen,  he  took 
Morissot  aside  and  whispered: 

"Quick;  the  password.  Your  friend  will  not 
know;  he  will  think  1  have  changed  my  mind." 
Morissot  said  nothing. 

Then  taking  Sauvage  aside  he  asked  him  the  same 
thing,  but  he  also  was  silent.  The  officer  gave  further 
orders  and  the  men  leveled  their  guns.  At  that 
moment,  Morissot's  eyes  rested  on  the  net  full  of  fish 
lying  in  the  grass  a  few  feet  away.  The  sight  made 
him  feel  faint  and,  though  he  struggled  against  it,  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears.     Then  turning  to  his  friend: 

"Farewell!  Mr.  Sauvage!" 

"Farewell!  Mr.  Morissot." 

They  stood  for  a  minute,  hand  in  hand,  trembling 
with  emotion  which  they  were  unable  to  control. 

"Fire!"  commanded  the  officer. 

The  squad  of  men  fired  as  one.  Sauvage  fell 
straight  on  his  face.  Morissot,  who  was  taller, 
swayed,  pivoted,  and  fell  across  his  friend's  body,  his 
face  to  the  sky;  while  blood  flowed  freely  from  the 
wound  in  his  breast.  The  officer  gave  further  orders 
and  his  men  disappeared.  They  came  back  presently 
with  ropes  and  stones,  which  they  tied  to  the  feet 
of  the  two  friends,  and  four  of  them   carried  them   to 


l64  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  edge  of  the  river.  They  swung  them  and  threw 
them  in  as  far  as  they  could.  The  bodies  weighted 
by  stones  sank  immediately.  A  splash,  a  few  ripples 
and  the  water  resumed  its  usual  calmness.  The  only 
thing  to  be  seen  was  a  little  blood  floating  on  the 
surface.  The  officer  calmly  retraced  his  steps  toward 
the  house  muttering: 

"The  fish  will  get  even  now." 

He  perceived  the  net  full  of  fish,  picked  it  up, 
smiled,  and  called: 

"Wilhelm!" 

A  soldier  in  a  white  apron  approached.  The  offi- 
cer handed  him  the  fish   saying: 

"Fry  these  little  things  while  they  are  still  alive; 
They  will  make  a  delicious  meal." 

And  having  resumed  his  position  on  the  chair,  he 
puffed  away  at  his  pipe." 


A    WARNING    NOTE 


"■       ~'  "^    HAVE  received    the  following   letter. 

Thinking  that  it  may  be  profit- 
able to  many  readers,  I  make 
it  my  business  to  communicate  it 
to  them: 

"Paris,  November  15,   1886. 
"Monsieur:  You   often   treat,  either 
in  the  shape  of  short  stories  or  chroni- 
cles, of  subjects  which    have   relation  to 
what  I  may  describe  as  '  current   morals.* 
c;^r~^-.       1  am  going  to  submit  to  you  some   reflec- 
^^  >^    tions  which,  it  seems  to  me,  ought  to  furnish 
^^"'^        you  with  the  materials  for  one  of  your  tales. 
"I  am    not   married;    I   am   a   bachelor,  and,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  a  rather  simple  man.     But  I  fancy  that 
many  men,  the  greater  part  of  men,  are  simple  in  the 
way  that  I  am.     As  1  am  always,  or  nearly  always,  a 
plain  dealer,  I  am  not  always  able  to  see  through  the 
natural   cunning  of  my  neighbors,  and    I   go   straight 
ahead,  with  my  eyes  open,  without  sufficiently  looking 
out  for  what  is   behind  things  —  behind   people's   ex- 
ternal behavior. 

(165) 


1 66  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"We  are  nearly  all  accustomed,  as  a  rule,  to  take 
appearances  for  realities,  and  to  look  on  people  as  what 
they  pretend  to  be.  Very  few  possess  that  scent 
which  enables  certain  men  to  divine  the  real  and 
hidden  nature  of  others.  From  this  peculiar  and  con- 
ventional method  of  regarding  life  comes  the  fact 
that  we  pass,  like  moles,  through  the  midst  of  events; 
and  that  we  never  believe  in  what  is,  but  in  what 
seems  to  be,  that  we  declare  a  thing  to  be  improbable 
as  soon  as  we  are  shown  the  fact  behind  the  veil, 
and  that  everything  which  displeases  our  idealistic 
morality  is  classed  by  us  as  an  exception,  without 
taking  into  account  that  these  exceptions  all  brought 
together  constitute  nearly  the  total  number  of  cases. 
It  further  results  that  credulous  and  good  people  like 
me  are  deceived  by  everybody,  especially  by  women, 
who  have  a  talent  in  this  direction, 

"1  have  started  far  afield  in  order  to  come  to  the 
particular  fact  which  interests  me.  I  have  a  mistress, 
a  married  woman.  Like  many  others,  I  imagined 
(do  you  understand?)  that  I  had  chanced  on  an  ex- 
ception, on  an  unhappy  little  woman  who  was  de- 
ceiving her  husband  for  the  first  time,  I  had  paid 
attentions  to  her,  or  rather  I  had  looked  on  myself  as 
having  paid  attention  to  her  for  a  long  time,  as  having 
overcome  her  virtue  by  dint  of  kindness  and  love,  and 
as  having  triumphed  by  the  sheer  force  of  persever- 
ance. In  fact,  I  had  made  use  of  a  thousand  precau- 
tions, a  thousand  devices,  and  a  thousand  subtle 
dallyings  in  order  to  succeed, 

"Now  here  is  what  happened  last  week:  Her 
husband  being  absent  for  some  days,  she  suggested 
that  we  should  both  dine  together,  and  that  I  should 


A  WARNING   NOTE  1 67 

attend  on  myself  so  as  to  avoid  the  presence  of  a 
manservant.  She  had  a  fixed  idea  which  had  haunted 
her  for  the  last  four  or  five  months:  She  wanted  to 
get  tipsy,  but  to  get  tipsy  altogether  without  being 
afraid  of  consequences,  without  having  to  go  back 
home,  speak  to  her  chambermaid,  and  walk  before 
witnesses.  She  had  often  obtained  what  she  called 
'a  gay  agitation'  without  going  farther,  and  she  had 
found  it  delightful.  So  she  had  promised  herself  that 
she  would  get  tipsy  once,  only  once,  but  thoroughly 
so.  At  her  own  house  she  pretended  that  she  was 
going  to  spend  twenty-four  hours  with  some  friends 
near  Paris,  and  she  reached  my  abode  just  about 
dinner-hour. 

"A  woman  naturally  ought  not  to  get  fuddled  ex- 
cept when  she  has  had  too  much  champagne.  If  she 
drinks  a  big  glass  of  it  fasting,  and  before  the  oysters 
arrive,  she  begins  to  ramble  in  her  talk. 

"We  had  a  cold  dinner  prepared  on  a  table  be- 
hind me.  It  was  enough  for  me  to  stretch  out  my 
arm  to  take  the  dishes  or  the  plates,  and  I  attended 
on  myself  as  best  1  could  while  I  listened  to  her 
chattering. 

"She  kept  swallowing  glass  after  glass,  haunted 
by  her  fixed  idea.  She  began  by  making  me  the  re- 
cipient of  meaningless  and  interminable  confidences 
with  regard  to  her  sensations  as  a  young  girl.  She 
went  on  and  on,  her  eyes  wandering  and  brilliant, 
her  tongue  untied,  and  her  light  ideas  rolling  them- 
selves out  endlessly  like  the  blue  telegraph-paper 
which  is  moved  on  without  stopping  by  the  bobbin 
and  keeps  extending  in  response  to  the  click  of  the 
electric  apparatus  which  covers  it  with  words. 


1 68  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

"From  time  to  time  she  asked  me: 

'"Am  1  tipsy?' 

'"No,  not  yet.' 

"And  she  went  on  drinking. 

"She  was  so  in  a  little  while  —  not  so  tipsy  as  to 
lose  her  senses,  but  tipsy  enough  to  tell  the  truth,  as 
it  seemed  to  me. 

"  To  her  confidences  as  to  her  emotions  while  a  young 
girl  succeeded  more  intimate  confidences  as  to  her  re- 
lations with  her  husband.  She  made  them  to  me 
without  restraint,  till  she  wearied  me  with  them, 
under  this  pretext,  which  she  repeated  a  hundred 
times:  'I  can  surely  tell  everything  to  you.  To  whom 
could  I  tell  everything  if  it  were  not  to  you  ? '  So  I 
was  made  acquainted  with  all  the  habits,  all  the  de- 
fects, all  the  fads  and  the  most  secret  fancies  of  her 
husband. 

"And  by  way  of  claiming  my  approval  she  asked: 
'Isn't  he  a  fool.?  Do  you  think  he  has  taken  a  feather 
out  of  me,  eh  ?  So,  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  I  said 
to  myself:  "Let  me  see!  I  like  him,  and  I'll  take 
him  for  my  lover."  It  was  then  you  began  flirting 
with  me.' 

"I  must  have  presented  an  odd  face  to  her  eyes 
at  that  moment,  for  she  could  see  it,  tipsy  though  she 
was;  and  with  great  outbursts  of  laughter,  she  ex- 
claimed: 'Ah!  you  big  simpleton,  you  did  go  about 
it  cautiously;  but,  when  men  pay  attentions  to  us, 
you  dear  blockhead,  you  see  we  like  it,  and  then 
they  must  make  quick  work  of  it,  and  not  keep  us 
waiting.  A  man  must  be  a  ninny  not  to  understand, 
by  a  mere  glance  at  us,  that  we  mean  "Yes."  Ah! 
I  believe   I   was   waiting  for  you,  you  stupid!    I   did 


A   WARNING  NOTE  169 

not  know  what  to  do  in  order  to  make  you  see  that 
I  was  in  a  hurry.  Oh!  yes  —  flowers  —  verses  —  com- 
pliments—  more  verses  —  and  nothing  else  at  all!  I 
was  very  near  letting  you  go,  my  fine  fellow,  you 
were  so  long  in  making  up  your  mind.  And  only  to 
think  that  half  the  men  in  the  world  are  like  you, 
while  the  other  half — ha!  ha!  ha!' 

"This  laugh  of  hers  sent  a  cold  shiver  down  my 
back.  I  stammered:  'The  other  half — what  about 
the  other  half?' 

"She  still  went  on  drinking,  her  eyes  steeped  in 
the  fumes  of  sparkling  wine',  her  mind  impelled  by 
that  imperious  necessity  for  telling  the  truth  which 
sometimes  takes  possession  of  drunkards. 

"She  replied:  'Ah!  the  other  half  makes  quick 
work  of  it  —  too  quick;  but,  all  the  same,  they  are 
right.  There  are  days  when  we  don't  hit  it  off  with 
them;  but  there  are  days  too,  when  it  all  goes  right, 
in  spite  of  everything.  My  dear,  if  you  only  knew 
how  funny  it  is  —  the  way  the  two  kinds  of  men  act! 
You  see,  the  timid  ones,  such  as  you — you  never 
could  imagine  what  sort  the  others  are  and  what 
they  do  —  immediately  —  as  soon  as  they  find  them- 
selves alone  with  us.  They  are  regular  dare-devils! 
They  get  many  a  slap  in  the  face  from  us  —  no  doubt 
of  that  —  but  what  does  that  matter?  They  know 
we're  the  sort  that  kiss  and  don't  tell!  They  know 
us  well  —  they  do!' 

"I  stared  at  her  with  the  eyes  of  an  Inquisitor, 
and  with  a  mad  desire  to  make  her  speak,  to  learn 
everything  from  her.  How  often  had  I  put  this  ques- 
tion to  myself:  '  How  do  the  other  men  behave 
toward   the  women  who  belong  to  us?'     I  was  fully 


170 


WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 


conscious  of  the  fact  that  from  the  way  I  saw  two 
men  talking  to  the  same  woman  publicly  in  a  draw- 
ing-room, these  two  men,  if  they  found  themselves, 
one  after  the  other,  all  alone  with  her,  would  conduct 
themselves  quite  differently,  although  they  were  both 
equally  well  acquainted  with  her.  We  can  guess  at 
the  first  glance  of  the  eye  that  certain  beings,  natu- 
rally endowed  with  the  power  of  seduction,  more 
lively,  more  daring  than  we  are,  reach,  after  an  hour's 
chat  with  a  woman  who  pleases  them,  a  degree  of 
intimacy  to  which  we  would  not  attain  in  a  year. 
Well,  do  these  men,  these  seducers,  these  bold  ad- 
venturers, take,  when  the  occasion  presents  itself  to 
them,  liberties  with  their  hands  and  lips  which  to 
us,  the  timid  ones,  would  appear  odious  outrages,  but 
which  women  perhaps  look  on  merely  as  pardonable 
effrontery  or  as  indecent  homage  to  their  irresistible 
grace  ? 

"So  I  asked  her:  'There  are  women,  though, 
who  think  these  men  very  improper?' 

"She  threw  herself  back  on  her  chair  in  order  to 
laugh  more  at  her  ease,  but  with  a  nerveless,  un- 
healthy laugh,  one  of  those  laughs  which  end  in 
hysteria.  Then,  a  little  more  calmly,  she  replied: 
'Ha!  ha!  my  dear,  improper  —  that  is  to  say,  that  they 
dare  everything — at  once  —  all  —  you  understand  — 
and  many  other  things,  too.' 

"I  felt  myself  horrified  as  if  she  had  just  revealed 
to  me  a  monstrous  thing. 

"'And  you  permit  this,  you  women?' 

"'No,  we  don't  permit  it;  we  slap  them  in  the 
face  —  but,  for  all  that,  they  amuse  us!  And  then 
with  them    one   is    always  afraid — one  is  never  easy. 


A   WARNING   NOTE 


171 


You  must  keep  watching  them  the  whole  time  —  it  is 
like  fighting  a  duel.  You  have  to  keep  staring  into 
their  eyes  to  see  what  they  are  thinking  of  or  what 
they  intend.  They  are  blackguards,  if  you  like,  but 
they  love  us  better  than  you  do!' 

'/A  singular  and  unexpected  sensation  stole  over 
me.  Although  a  bachelor,  and  determined  to  re- 
main a  bachelor,  I  suddenly  felt  in  my  breast  the 
spirit  of  a  husband  in  the  face  of  this  impudent  con- 
fidence. I  felt  myself  the  friend,  the  ally,  the  brother 
of  all  these  confiding  men  who  are,  if  not  robbed, 
at  least  defrauded  by  all  the  rufflers  of  women's 
waists. 

"It  is  this  strange  emotion,  Monsieur,  that  I  am 
obeying  at  this  moment,  in  writing  to  you,  in  beg- 
ging of  you  to  address  a  warning  note  to  the  great 
army  of  easy-going  husbands. 

"However,  I  had  still  some  lingering  doubts. 
This  woman  was  drunk  and  must  be  lying. 

"I  went  on  to  inquire:  'How  is  it  that  you 
never  relate  these  adventures  to  anyone,  you  women.?' 

"She  gazed  at  me  with  profound  pity,  and  with 
such  an  air  of  sincerity  that,  for  the  moment,  I 
thought  she  had  been  sobered  by  astonishment. 

"'We.?  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  very  foolish. 
Why  do  we  never  talk  to  you  about  these  things  ? 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  Does  your  valet  tell  you  about  his  tips, 
his  odd  sous?  Well,  this  is  our  little  tip.  The  hus- 
band ought  not  to  complain  when  we  don't  go 
farther.  But  how  dull  you  are!  To  talk  of  these 
things  would  be  to  give  the  alarm  to  all  ninnies! 
Ah!  how  dull  you  are!  And  then  what  harm  does  it 
do  as  long  as  we  don't  yield?' 


172  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"I  felt  myself  in  a  state  of  great  confusion  as  I 
put  the  question  to  her: 

"'So  then  you  have  often  been  embraced  by 
men  ?' 

"She  answered,  with  an  air  of  sovereign  contempt 
for  the  man  who  could  have  any  doubt  on  the  sub- 
ject : 

"'Faith!  Why,  every  woman  has  been  often  em- 
braced. Try  it  on  with  any  of  them,  no  matter 
whom,  in  order  to  see  for  yourself,  you  great  goose! 

Look  here!    embrace  Mme.    de   X !     She   is    quite 

young,  and  quite  virtuous.  Embrace,  my  friend — ■ 
embrace  —  and  touch  —  you  shall  see  —  ha!  ha!  ha!' 

"All  of  a  sudden,  she  flung  her  glass  straight  at 
the  chandelier.  The  champagne  fell  down  in  a 
shower,  extinguished  three  wax-candles,  stained  the 
hangings,  and  deluged  the  table,  while  the  broken 
glass  was  scattered  about  the  dining-room.  Then, 
she  made  an  effort  to  seize  the  bottle  to  do  the  same 
with  it,  but  I  prevented  her.  After  that,  she  burst 
out  crying  in  a  very  loud  tone  —  the  hysteria  had 
come  on,  as  I  had  anticipated. 


"Some  days  later,  I  had  almost  forgotten  this 
avowal   of  a  tipsy   woman   when   I   chanced  to  find 

myself  at  an  evening  party  with  this  Mme.  de  X , 

whom  my  mistress  had  advised  me  to  embrace.  As 
I  lived  in  the  same  direction  as  she  did,  I  offered  to 
drive  her  to  her  own  door,  for  she  was  alone  this 
evening.     She  accepted  my  offer. 

"  As  soon  as  we  were  in  the  carriage,  I  said  to 
myself:    'Gomel    I   must  try  it  onl'    But  I  had  not 


A   WARNING   NOTE  1 73 

the  courage.     I  did   not   know   how   to  make  a  start, 
how  to  begin  the  attack. 

"Then,  suddenly,  the  desperate  courage  of  cow- 
ards came  to  my  aid.  I  said  to  her:  'How  pretty 
you  were,  this  evening.' 

"She  replied  with  a  laugh:  'So  then,  this  even- 
ing was  an  exception,  since  you  only  remarked  it  for 
the  first  time?' 

"I  did  not  know  what  rejoinder  to  make.  Cer- 
tainly my  gallantry  was  not  making  progress.  After 
a  little  reflection,  however,  I  managed  to  say: 

"'No,  but  I  never  dared  to  tell  it  to  you.' 
She  was  astonished: 

"'Why?' 

"'Because  it  is — -it  is  a  little  difficult.' 
'Diificult    to    tell    a    woman    that    she's    pretty? 
Why,  where  did  you  come  from  ?  You  should  always 
tell  us  so,  even  when  you  only  half  think  it,  because 
it  always  gives  us  pleasure  to  hear.' 

"I  felt  myself  suddenly  animated  by  a  fantastic 
audacity,  and,  catching  her  round  the  waist,  I  raised 
my  lips  toward  her  mouth, 

"Nevertheless  I  seemed  to  be  rather  nervous  about 
it,  and  not  to  appear  so  terrible  to  her.  I  must  also 
have  arranged  and  executed  my  movement  very  badly, 
for  she  managed  to  turn  her  head  aside  so  as  to 
avoid  contact  with  my  f;ice,  saying: 

"'Oh,  no  —  this  is  rather  too  much — too  much. 
You  are  too  quick!  Take  care  of  my  hair.  You 
cannot  embrace  a  woman  who  has  her  hair  dressed 
like  mine! ' 

"I  resumed  my  former  position  in  the  carriage,  dis- 
concerted, unnerved  by  this  repulse.     But  the  carriage 


174 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


drew  up  before  her  gate;  and  she,  as  she  stepped  out 
of  it,  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  saying,  in  her  most 
gracious  tones: 

'"Thanks,  dear  Monsieur,  for  having  seen  me 
home  —  and  don't  forget  my  advice!' 

"I  saw  her  three  days  later.  She  had  forgotten 
everything. 

"And  I,  Monsieur,  \  am  incessantly  thinking  on 
the  other  sort  of  men — the  sort  of  men  to  whom  a 
lady's  hair  is  no  obstacle,  and  who  know  how  to 
seize  every  opportunity." 


AFTER 


M 


Y    DARLINGS,"  Said    the    Comtesse, 
"you  must  go  to  bed." 
The    three    children,  two    girls 
and  a  boy,  rose  up  to  kiss  their  grand- 
mother. 

Then  they  said  "Good  night"  to  M. 
le  Cure,  who  had  dined  at  the  chateau, 
as  he  did  every  Thursday. 
The  Abbe  Mauduit  sat  two  of  the  young 
Li       ones   on   his   knees,   passing   his  long  arms 
clad    in    black    behind    the    children's    necks; 
and,  drawing  their  heads   toward  him  with    a 
j,:^      paternal    movement,  he    kissed  each  of  them  on 
^  the  forehead  with  a  long,  tender  kiss. 

Then,  he  again  set  them  down  on  the  floor,  and 
the  little  beings  went  off,  the  boy  in  front,  and  the 
girls  behind. 

"You  are  fond  of  children,  M.  le  Cure,"  said  the 
Comtesse. 

"Very  fond,  Madame." 

The  old  woman  raised  her  bright  eyes  toward  the 
priest. 

"And  —  has  your  solitude  never  weighed  too 
heavily  on  you?" 

(175) 


176 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"Yes,  sometimes." 

He  became  silent,  hesitated,  and  then  added:  "But 
I  was  never  made  for  ordinary  life." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"Oh!  I  know  very  well.  I  was  made  to  be  a 
priest;  I  followed  my  own  path." 

The  Comtesse  kept  staring  at  him: 

"Look  here,  M.  le  Cure,  tell  me  this  —  tell  me 
how  it  was  you  resolved  to  renounce  forever  what 
makes  us  love  life  —  the  rest  of  us  —  all  that  consoles 
and  sustains  us  ?  What  is  it  that  drove  you,  impelled 
you,  to  separate  yourself  from  the  great  natural  path 
of  marriage  and  the  family.  You  are  neither  an  en- 
thusiast nor  a  fanatic,  neither  a  gloomy  person  nor  a 
sad  person.  Was  it  some  strange  occurrence,  some 
sorrov/,  that  led  you  to  take  lifelong  vows?" 

The  Abbe  Mauduit  rose  up  and  drew  near  to  the 
fire,  stretching  out  to  the  flames  the  big  shoes  that 
country  priests  generally  wear.  He  seemed  still  hes- 
itating as  to  what  reply  he  should  make. 

He  was  a  tall  old  man  with  white  hair,  and  for  the 
last  twenty  years  had  been  the  pastor  of  the  parish 
of  Sainte-Antoine-du-Rocher.  The  peasants  said  of 
him,  "There's  a  good  man  for  you!"  And  indeed 
he  was  a  good  man,  benevolent,  friendly  to  all,  gen- 
tle, and,  to  crown  all,  generous.  Like  Saint  Martin, 
he  had  cut  his  cloak  in  two.  He  freely  laughed,  and 
wept  too,  for  very  little,  just  like  a  woman, —  a  thing 
that  prejudiced  him  more  or  less  in  the  hard  minds 
of  the  country  people. 

The  old  Comtesse  de  Saville,  living  in  retirement  in 
her  chateau  of  Rocher,  in  order  to  bring  up  her  grand- 
children, after  the  successive  deaths  of  her  son  and  her 


AFTER 


177 


daughter-in-law,  was  very  much  attached  to  the  cur6, 
and  used  to  say  of  him:    "He  has  a  kind  heart!" 

The  abbe  came  every  Thursday  to  spend  the  even- 
ing at  the  chateau,  and  they  were  close  friends,  with 
the  open  and  honest  friendship  of  old  people. 

She  persisted: 

"Look  here  M.  le  Cure!  'tis  your  turn  now  to 
make  a  confession!" 

He  repeated:  "I  was  not  made  for  a  life  like 
everybody  else.  I  saw  it  myself,  fortunately,  in  time, 
and  have  had  many  proofs  since  that  I  made  no 
mistake  on  that  point, 

"My  parents,  who  were  mercers  in  Verdiers,  and 
rather  rich,  had  much  ambition  on  my  account. 
They  sent  me  to  a  boarding-school  while  I  was  very 
young.  You  cannot  conceive  what  a  boy  may  suffer 
at  college,  by  the  mere  fact  of  separation,  of  isola- 
tion. This  monotonous  life  without  affection  is  good 
for  some  and  detestable  for  others.  Young  people 
often  have  hearts  more  sensitive  than  one  supposes, 
and  by  shutting  them  up  thus  too  soon,  far  from 
those  they  love,  we  may  develop  to  an  excessive 
extent  a  sensibility  which  is  of  an  overstrung  kind, 
and  which  becomes  sickly  and  dangerous. 

"I  scarcely  ever  played;  I  never  had  companions; 
I  passed  my  hours  in  looking  back  to  my  home  with 
regret;  I  spent  the  whole  night  weeping  in  my  bed. 
I  sought  to  bring  up  before  my  mind  recollections  of 
my  own  home,  trifling  recollections  of  little  things, 
little  events.  I  thought  incessantly  of  all  I  had  left 
behind  there.  I  became  almost  imperceptibly  an  over- 
sensitive youth,  to  whom  the  slightest  annoyances 
were  dreadful  griefs. 

5    G.  de  M.— u 


178 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


"Together  with  this,  I  remained  taciturn,  self- 
absorbed,  without  expansion,  without  confidants.  This 
work  of  mental  exaltation  was  brought  about  obscurely 
but  surely.  The  nerves  of  children  are  quickly  excited; 
one  ought  to  realize  the  fact  that  they  live  in  a  state 
of  deep  quiescence  up  to  the  time  of  almost  complete 
development.  But  does  anyone  reflect  that,  for  cer- 
tain students,  an  unjust  imposition  can  be  as  great  a 
pang  as  the  death  of  a  friend  afterward  ?  Does  any- 
one realize  the  fact  that  certain  young  souls  have,  with 
very  little  cause,  terrible  emotions,  and  are  in  a  very 
short  time  diseased  and  incurable  souls? 

"This  was  my  case.  This  faculty  of  regret  devel- 
oped itself  in  me  in  such  a  fashion  that  my  exist- 
ence became  a  martyrdom. 

"I  did  not  speak  about  it;  I  said  nothing  about 
it;  but  gradually  I  acquired  a  sensibility,  or  rather  a 
sensitivity,  so  lively  that  my  soul  resembled  a  living 
wound.  Everything  that  touched  it  produced  in  it 
twitchings  of  pain,  frightful  vibrations,  and  veritable 
ravages.  Happy  are  the  men  whom  nature  has 
buttressed  with  indifference  and  cased  in  stoicism. 

"I  reached  my  sixteenth  year.  An  excessive  timid- 
ity had  come  to  me  from  this  aptitude  to  suffer  on 
account  of  everything.  Feeling  myself  unprotected 
against  all  the  attacks  of  chance  or  fate,  I  feared  every 
contact,  every  approach,  every  event.  I  lived  on  the 
watch  as  if  under  the  constant  threat  of  an  unknown 
and  always  expected  misfortune.  I  was  afraid  either 
to  speak  or  to  act  publicly.  I  had,  indeed,  the  sensa- 
tion that  life  is  a  battle,  a  dreadful  conflict  in  which 
one  receives  terrible  blows,  grievous,  mortal  wounds. 
In  place  of  cherishing,  like  all  men,  the  hope  of  good- 


AFTER 


179 


fortune  on  the  morrow,  I  only  kept  a  confused  fear 
of  it,  and  1  felt  in  my  own  mind  a  desire  to  conceal 
myself — to  avoid  that  combat  in  which  I  should  be 
vanquished  and  slain. 

"As  soon  as  my  studies  were  finished,  they  gave 
me  six  months'  time  to  choose  a  career.  Sud- 
denly a  very  simple  event  made  me  see  clearly 
into  myself,  showed  me  the  diseased  condition  of 
my  mind,  made  me  understand  the  danger,  and  caused 
me  to  make  up  my  mind  to  fly  from  it. 

"Verdiers  is  a  little  town  surrounded  with  plains 
and  woods.  In  the  central  street  stands  my  parents' 
house.  1  now  passed  my  days  far  from  this  dwelling 
which  I  had  so  much  regretted,  so  much  desired. 
Dreams  were  awakened  in  me,  and  I  walked  all  alone 
in  the  fields  in  order  to  let  them  escape  and  fly  away. 
My  father  and  my  mother,  quite  occupied  with  busi- 
ness, and  anxious  about  my  future,  talked  to  me  only 
about  their  profits  or  about  my  possible  plans.  They 
were  fond  of  me  in  the  way  that  hard-headed,  prac- 
tical people  are;  they  had  more  reason  than  heart  in 
their  affection  for  me.  I  lived  imprisoned  in  my 
thoughts,  and  trembling  with  eternal  uneasiness. 

"Now,  one  evening,  after  a  long  walk,  as  I  was 
making  my  way  home  with  quick  strides  so  as  not  to 
be  late,  1  met  a  dog  trotting  toward  me.  He  was  a 
species  of  red  spaniel,  very  lean,  with  long  curly  ears. 

"When  he  was  ten  paces  away  from  me,  he 
stopped.  I  did  the  same.  Then  he  began  wagging 
his  tail,  and  came  over  to  me  with  short  steps  and 
nervous  movements  of  his  whole  body,  going  down 
on  his  paws  as  if  appealing  to  me,  and  softly  shak- 
ing  his   head.     He   then    made   a    show    of  crawling 


l8o  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

with  an  air  so  humble,  so  sad,  so  suppliant,  that  I 
felt  the  tears  coming  into  my  eyes.  I  came  near 
him;  he  ran  away;  then  he  came  back  again;  and  I 
bent  down,  trying  to  coax  him  to  approach  me  with 
soft  words.  At  last,  he  was  within  reach  and  I 
gently  caressed  him  with  the  most  careful  hands. 

"He  grew  bold,  rose  up  bit  by  bit,  laid  his  paws 
on  my  shoulders,  and  began  to  lick  my  face.  He 
followed  me  into  the  house. 

"This  was  really  the  first  being  I  had  passionately 
loved,  because  he  returned  my  affection.  My  attach- 
ment to  this  animal  v/as  certainly  exaggerated  and 
ridiculous.  It  seemed  to  me  in  a  confused  sort  of 
way  that  we  were  two  brothers,  lost  on  this  earth, 
and  therefore  isolated  and  without  defense,  one  as 
well  as  the  other.  He  never  again  quitted  my  side. 
He  slept  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  ate  at  the  table  in 
spite  of  the  objections  of  my  parents,  and  followed 
me  in  my  solitary  walks. 

"I  often  stopped  at  the  side  of  a  ditch,  and  I  sat 
down  in  the  grass.  Sam  would  lie  on  my  knees, 
and  lift  up  my  hand  with  the  end  of  his  nose  so  that 
I  might  caress  him. 

"One  day  toward  the  end  of  June,  as  we  were 
on  the  road  from  Saint-Pierre-de-Chavrol,  I  saw  the 
diligence  from  Pavereau  coming  along.  Its  four  horses 
were  going  at  a  gallop.  It  had  a  yellow  box-seat,  and 
imperial  crowned  with  black  leather.  The  coachman 
cracked  his  whip;  a  cloud  of  dust  rose  up  under  the 
wheels  of  the  heavy  vehicle,  then  floated  behind,  just 
as  a  cloud  would  do. 

"And,  all  of  a  sudden,  as  the  vehicle  came  close  to 
me.  Sam,  perhaps  frightened  by  the  noise  and  wishing 


AFTER  l8l 

to  join  me,  jumped  in  front  of  it.  A  horse's  foot 
knocked  him  down.  I  saw  him  rolling  over,  turning 
round,  falling  back  again  on  all  fours,  and  then  the 
entire  coach  gave  two  big  jolts  and  behind  it  I  saw 
something  quivering  in  the  dust  on  the  road.  He 
was  nearly  cut  in  two;  all  his  intestines  were  hanging 
through  his  stomach,  which  had  been  ripped  open, 
and  spurts  of  blood  fell  to  the  ground.  He  tried  to 
get  up,  to  walk,  but  he  could  only  move  his  two  front 
paws,  and  scratch  the  ground  with  them,  as  if  to 
make  a  hole.  The  two  others  were  already  dead. 
And  he  howled  dreadfully,  mad  with  pain. 

"He  died  in  a  few  minutes.  I  cannot  describe 
how  much  I  felt  and  suffered.  I  was  confined  to  my 
own  room  for  a  month. 

"Now,  one  night,  my  father,  enraged  at  seeing 
me  in  such  a  state  for  so  little,  exclaimed: 

"'How  then  will  it  be  when  you  have  real  griefs. 
If  you  lose  your  wife  or  children?' 

"And  I  began  to  see  clearly  into  myself.  I  under- 
stood why  all  the  small  miseries  of  each  day  assumed 
in  my  eyes  the  importance  of  a  catastrophe;  I  saw 
that  I  was  organized  in  such  a  way  that  I  suffered 
dreadfully  from  everything,  that  every  painful  impres- 
sion was  multiplied  by  my  diseased  sensibility,  and 
an  atrocious  fear  of  life  took  possession  of  me.  I  was 
without  passions,  without  ambitions;  I  resolved  to 
sacrifice  possible  joys  in  order  to  avoid  sure  sorrows. 
Existence  is  short,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  spend 
it  in  the  service  of  others,  in  relieving  their  troubles 
and  enjoying  their  happiness.  By  having  no  direct 
experience  of  either  one  or  the  other,  I  would  only 
be  conscious  of  passionless  emotions. 


l82  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"And  if  you  only  knew  how,  in  spite  of  this, 
misery  tortures  me,  ravages  me.  But  what  would  be 
for  me  an  intolerable  affliction  has  become  commisera- 
tion, pity. 

"The  sorrows  which  I  have  every  day  to  concern 
myself  about  I  could  not  endure  if  they  fell  on  my 
own  heart.  I  could  not  have  seen  one  of  my  children 
die  without  dying  myself.  And  I  have,  in  spite  of 
everything,  preserved  such  a  deep  and  penetrating 
fear  of  circumstances  that  the  sight  of  the  postman 
entering  my  house  makes  a  shiver  pass  every  day 
through  my  veins,  and  yet  I  have  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of  now." 

The  Abbe  Mauduit  ceased  speaking.  He  stared 
into  the  fire  in  the  huge  grate,  as  if  he  saw  there 
mysterious  things,  all  the  unknown  portion  of  exist- 
ence which  he  would  have  been  able  to  live  if  he 
had  been  more  fearless  in  the  face  of  suffering. 

He  added,  then,  in  a  subdued  tone: 

"I  was  right.     I  was  not  made  for  this  world." 

The  Comtesse  said  nothing  at  first;  but  at  length, 
after  a  long  silence,  she  remarked: 

"  For  my  part,  if  I  had  not  my  grandchildren,  I 
believe  I  would  not  have  the  courage  to  live." 

And  the  Cure  rose  up  without  saying  another  word. 

As  the  servants  were  asleep  in  the  kitchen,  she 
conducted  him  herself  to  the  door  which  looked  out 
on  the  garden,  and  she  saw  his  tall  shadow,  revealed 
by  the  reflection  of  the  lamp,  disappearing  through 
the  gloom  of  night. 

Then  she  came  back,  sat  down  before  the  fire, 
and  pondered  over  many  things  on  which  we  never 
think  when  we  are  young. 


THE    SPASM 


HE  hotel-guests  slowly  entered  the 
dining-room,  and  sat  down  in 
their  places.  The  waiters  began 
to  attend  on  them  in  a  leisurely 
fashion  so  as  to  enable  those  who 
were  late  to  arrive,  and  to  avoid  bring- 
..  ing  back  the  dishes.  The  old  bathers, 
the  habitues,  those  whose  season  was 
advancing,  gazed  with  interest  toward  the 
door,  whenever  it  opened,  with  a  desire 
to  see  new  faces  appearing. 
This  is  the  principal  distraction  of  health- 
^  resorts.  People  look  forward  to  the  dinner 
hour  in  order  to  inspect  each  day's  new  arrivals, 
to  find  out  who  they  are,  what  they  do,  and  what  they 
think.  A  vague  longing  springs  up  in  the  mind,  a 
longing  for  agreeable  meetings,  for  pleasant  acquaint- 
ances, perhaps  for  love-adventures.  In  this  life  of 
elbowings,  strangers,  as  well  as  those  with  whom  we 
have  come  into  daily  contact,  assume  an  extreme 
importance.  Curiosity  is  aroused,  sympathy  is  ready  to 
exhibit  itself,  and  sociability  is  the   order  of  the  day. 

(«85) 


l84  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

We  cherish  antipathies  for  a  week  and  friendships 
for  a  month;  we  see  other  people  with  different  eyes, 
when  we  view  them  through  the  medium  of  the  ac- 
quaintanceship that  is  brought  about  at  health-resorts. 
We  discover  in  men  suddenly,  after  an  hour's  chat 
in  the  evening  after  dinner,  or  under  the  trees  in  the 
park  where  the  generous  spring  bubbles  up,  a  high 
intelligence  and  astonishing  merits,  and,  a  month  after- 
ward, we  have  completely  forgotten  these  new  friends, 
so  fascinating  when  we  first  met  them. 

There  also  are  formed  lasting  and  serious  ties  more 
quickly  than  anywhere  else.  People  see  each  other 
every  day;  they  become  acquainted  very  quickly;  and 
with  the  affection  thus  originated  is  mingled  some- 
thing of  the  sweetness  and  self-abandonment  of  long- 
standing intimacies.  We  cherish  in  after  years  the 
dear  and  tender  memories  of  those  first  hours  of  friend- 
ship, the  memory  of  those  first  conversations  through 
which  we  have  been  able  to  unveil  a  soul,  of  those 
first  glances  which  interrogate  and  respond  to  the 
questions  and  secret  thoughts  which  the  mouth  has 
not  as  yet  uttered,  the  memory  of  that  first  cordial 
confidence,  the  memory  of  that  delightful  sensation  of 
opening  our  hearts  to  those  who  are  willing  to  open 
theirs  to  us. 

And  the  melancholy  of  health-resorts,  the  mo- 
notony of  days  that  are  alike,  help  from  hour  to  hour 
in  this  rapid  development  of  affection.  ^^ 

in  :t:  *  *  *  *  *  &^ 

Well,  this  evening,  as  on  every  other  evening,  we 
awaited  the  appearance  of  strange  faces. 

Only  two  appeared,  but  they  were  very  remarkable 
looking,  a  man  and  a  woman  —  father   and   daughter. 


THE   SPASM 


185 


They  immediately  produced  the  same  effect  on  my 
mind  as  some  of  Edgar  Poe's  characters;  and  yet 
there  was  about  them  a  charm,  the  charm  associated 
with  misfortune.  I  looI<ed  upon  them  as  the  victims  of 
fatality.  The  man  was  very  tall  and  thin,  rather  stoop- 
ing, with  hair  perfectly  white,  too  white  for  his  com- 
paratively youthful  physiognomy;  and  there  was  ia 
his  bearing  and  in  his  person  that  austerity  peculiar  to 
Protestants.  The  daughter,  who  was  probably 
twenty-four  or  twenty-five,  was  small  in  stature,  and 
was  also  very  thin,  very  pale,  and  had  the  air  of  one 
worn  out  with  utter  lassitude.  We  meet  people  like 
this  from  time  to  time,  people  who  seem  too  weak 
for  the  tasks  and  the  needs  of  daily  life,  too  weak  to 
move  about,  to  walk,  to  do  all  that  we  do  every  day. 
This  young  girl  was  very  pretty,  with  the  diapha- 
nous beauty  of  a  phantom;  and  she  ate  with  extreme 
slowness,  as  if  she  were  almost  incapable  of  moving 
her  arms.  It  must  have  been  she  assuredly  who  had 
come  to  take  the  waters. 

They  found  themselves  facing  me  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table;  and  I  at  once  noticed  that  the 
father  had  a  very  singular  nervous  spasm.  Every  time 
he  wanted  to  reach  an  object,  his  hand  made  a  hook- 
like movement,  a  sort  of  irregular  zigzag,  before  it 
succeeded  in  touching  what  it  was  in  search  of;  and, 
after  a  little  while,  this  action  was  so  wearisome  to 
me  that  I  turned  aside  my  head  in  order  not  to  see  it. 
1  noticed,  too,  that  the  young  girl,  during  meals, 
wore  a  glove  on  her  left  hand. 

After  dinner,  I  went  for  a  stroll  in  the  park  of  the 
thermal  establishment.  This  led  toward  the  little 
Auvergnese  station  of  Chatel  Guyon,  hidden  in  a  gorge 


l86  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

at  the  foot  of  the  high  mountain,  of  that  mountain 
from  which  flow  so  many  boiling  springs,  rising 
from  the  deep  bed  of  extinct  volcanoes.  Over  there, 
above  us,  the  domes,  which  had  once  been  craters, 
raised  their  mutilated  heads  on  the  summit  of  the 
long  chain.  For  Chatel  Guyon  is  situated  at  the  spot 
where  the  region  of  domes  begins.  Beyond  it  stretches 
out  the  region  of  peaks,  and,  further  on  again,  the 
region  of  precipices. 

The  Puy  de  Dome  is  the  highest  of  the  domes, 
the  Peak  of  Sancy  is  the  loftiest  of  the  peaks,  and 
Cantal  is  the  most  precipitous  of  these  mountain 
heights. 

This  evening,  it  was  very  warm.  I  walked  up  and 
down  a  shady  path,  on  the  side  of  the  mountain 
overlooking  the  park,  listening  to  the  opening  strains 
of  the  Casino  band.  I  saw  the  father  and  the  daughter 
advancing  slowly  in  my  direction.  I  saluted  them, 
as  we  are  accustomed  to  salute  our  hotel-companions 
at  health-resorts;  and  the  man,  coming  to  a  sudden 
halt,  said  to  me: 

"Could  you  not.  Monsieur,  point  out  to  us  a  short 
walk,  nice  and  easy,  if  that  is  possible,  and  excuse 
my  intrusion  on  you?" 

I  offered  to  show  them  the  way  toward  the  val- 
ley through  which  the  little  river  flowed,  a  deep  valley 
forming  a  gorge  between  two  tall,  craggy,  wooded 
slopes.  They  gladly  accepted  my  offer,  and  we  talked 
naturally  about  the  virtues  of  the  waters. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  "my  daughter  has  a  strange  mal- 
ady, the  seat  of  which  is  unknown.  She  suffers  from 
incomprehensible  nervous  disorders.  At  one  time,  the 
doctors  think  she   has   an   attack   of  heart  disease,  at 


THE  SPASM  187 

another  time,  they  imagine  it  is  some  affection  of  the 
liver,  and  at  another  time  they  declare  it  to  be  a  dis- 
ease of  the  spine.  To-day,  her  condition  is  attributed 
to  the  stomach,  which  is  the  great  caldron  and  reg- 
ulator of  the  body,  the  Protean  source  of  diseases 
with  a  thousand  forms  and  a  thousand  susceptibilities 
to  attack.  This  is  why  we  have  come  here.  For  my 
part,  I  am  rather  inclined  to  think  it  is  the  nerves. 
In  any  case  it  is  very  sad." 

Immediately  the  remembrance  of  the  violent  spas- 
modic movement  of  his  hana  came  back  to  my  mind, 
and  I  asked  him: 

"But  is  this  not  the  result  of  heredity.?  Are  not 
your  own  nerves  somewhat  affected.?" 

He  replied  calmly: 

"Mine?  Oh!  no  —  my  nerves  have  always  been 
very  steady." 

Then  suddenly,   after  a  pause,  he  went  on: 

"Ah!  You  were  alluding  to  the  spasm  in  my 
hand  every  time  I  want  to  reach  for  anything.?  This 
arises  from  a  terrible  experience  which  I  had.  Just 
imagine!  this  daughter  of  mine  was  actually  buried 
alive!" 

I  could  only  give  utterance  to  the  word  "Ah!"  so 
great  were  my  astonishment  and  emotion. 

4c  41  «  4c  *  «  3): 

He   continued: 

"Here  is  the  story.  It  is  simple.  Juliette  had 
been  subject  for  some  time  to  serious  attacks  of  the 
heart.  We  believed  that  she  had  disease  of  that 
organ  and  we  were  prepared  for  the  worst. 

"One  day,  she  was  carried  into  the  house  cold, 
lifelesi^s,  dead.     She    had    fallen    down  unconscious    in 


1 88  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  garden.  The  doctor  certified  that  life  was  extinct. 
I  watched  by  her  side  for  a  day  and  two  nights.  I 
laid  her  with  my  own  hands  in  the  coffin,  which  I 
accompanied  to  the  cemetery  where  she  was  deposited 
in  the  family  vault.  It  is  situated  in  the  very  heart  of 
Lorraine. 

"1  wished  to  have  her  interred  with  her  jewels, 
bracelets,  necklaces,  rings,  all  presents  which  she  had 
got  from  me,  and  with  her  first  ball-dress  on. 

"You  may  easily  imagine  the  state  of  mind  in 
which  I  was  when  I  returned  home.  She  was  the 
only  companion  I  had,  for  my  wife  has  been  dead  for 
many  years.  1  found  my  way  to  my  own  apartment 
in  a  half-distracted  condition,  utterly  exhausted,  and 
1  sank  into  my  easy-chair,  without  the  capacity  to 
think  or  the  strength  to  move.  1  was  nothing  better 
now  than  a  suffering,  vibrating  machine,  a  human 
being  who  had,  as  it  were,  been  flayed  alive;  my 
soul  was  like  a  living  wound. 

"My  old  valet,  Prosper,  who  had  assisted  me  in 
placing  Juliette  in  her  coffin,  and  preparing  her  for 
her  last  sleep,  entered  the  room  noiselessly,  and 
asked: 

"'Does  Monsieur  want  anything?' 

"I  merely  shook  my  head,  by  way  of  answering 
*No.' 

"He  urged:  'Monsieur  is  wrong.  He  will  bring 
some  illness  on  himself.  Would  Monsieur  like  me  to 
put  him  to  bed?' 

"I  answered:  'No!  let  me  alone!'  And  he  left 
the  room. 

"I  know  not  how  many  hours  slipped  away.  Oh! 
what   a  night,  what  a   night!     It  was  cold.     My  firs 


THE   SPASM  189 

had  died  out  in  the  huge  grate;  and  the  wind,  the 
winter  wind,  an  icy  wind,  a  hurricane  accompanied 
by  frost  and  snow,  kept  blowing  against  the  window 
with  a  sinister  and  regular  noise. 

"How  many  hours  slipped  away?  There  1  was 
without  sleeping,  powerless,  crushed,  my  eyes  wide 
open,  my  legs  stretched  out,  my  body  limp,  inani- 
mate, and  my  mind  torpid  with  despair.  Suddenly, 
the  great  bell  of  the  entrance  gate,  the  bell  of  the 
vestibule,  rang  out. 

"I  got  such  a  shock  that  my  chair  cracked  under 
me.  The  solemn  ponderous  sound  vibrated  through 
the  empty  chateau  as  if  through  a  vault.  I  turned 
round  to  see  what  the  hour  was  by  my  clock.  It 
was  just  two  in  the  morning.  Who  could  be  coming 
at  such  an  hour? 

"And  abruptly  the  bell  again  rang  twice.  The 
servants,  without  doubt,  were  afraid  to  get  up.  I 
took  a  wax-candle  and  descended  the  stairs.  I  was 
on  the  point  of  asking:     'Who  is  there?' 

"Then,  1  felt  ashamed  of  my  weakness,  and  I 
slowly  opened  the  huge  door.  My  heart  was  throb- 
bing wildly;  I  was  frightened;  I  hurriedly  drew  back 
the  door,  and  in  the  darkness,  I  distinguished  a  white 
figure  standing  erect,  something  that  resembled  an 
apparition. 

"I  recoiled,  petrified  with  horror,  faltering: 

"'Who  —  who  —  who  are  you?' 

"A  voice  replied: 

"'It  is  I,  father.' 

"It  was  my  daughter.  I  really  thought  I  must  be 
mad,  and  I  retreated  backward  before  this  advancing 
specter.     1   kept   moving  away,  making   a  sign  with 


190 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


my  hand,  as  if  to  drive  the  phantom  away,  that 
gesture  which  you  have  noticed, — that  gesture  of 
which  since  then  I  have  never  got  rid. 

"The  apparition  spoke  again: 

"'Do  not  be  afraid,  papa;  I  was  not  dead.  Some- 
body tried  to  steal  my  rings,  and  cut  one  of  my  fin- 
gers, the  blood  began  to  flow,  and  this  reanimated 
me.' 

"And,  in  fact,  I  could  see  that  her  hand  was  cov- 
ered with  blood. 

"I  fell  on  my  knees,  choking  with  sobs  and  with 
a  rattling  in  my  throat. 

"Then,  when  I  had  somewhat  collected  my 
thoughts,  though  1  was  still  so  much  dismayed  that 
I  scarcely  realized  the  gruesome  good-fortune  that  had 
fallen  to  my  lot,  I  made  her  go  up  to  my  room,  and 
sit  down  in  my  easy-chair;  then  1  rang  excitedly  for 
Prosper  to  get  him  to  light  up  the  fire  again  and  to 
get  her  some  wine  and  summon  the  rest  of  the  serv- 
ants to  her  assistance. 

"The  man  entered,  stared  at  my  daughter,  opened 
his  mouth  with  a  gasp  of  alarm  and  stupefaction,  and 
then  fell  back,  insensible. 

"It  was  he  who  had  opened  the  vault,  and  who 
had  mutilated  and  then  abandoned  my  daughter,  for 
he  could  not  efface  the  traces  of  the  theft.  He  had 
not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  put  back  the  coffin 
into  its  place,  feeling  sure,  besides,  that  he  would 
not  be  suspected  by  me,  as  I  completely  trusted  him. 

"You  see,  Monsieur,  that  we  are  very  unhappy 
people." 

4:  4:  4:  *  »  *  * 

He  stopped. 


THE  SPASM 


191 


The  night  had  fallen,  casting  its  shadows  over  the 
desolate,  mournful  vale,  and  a  sort  of  mysterious  fear 
possessed  me  at  finding  myself  by  the  side  of  those 
strange  beings,  of  this  young  girl  who  had  come 
back  from  the  tomb  and  this  father  with  his  uncanny 
spasm. 

I   found   it  impossible  to   make   any  comment  on 
this  dreadful  story.     I  only  murmured: 
"What  a  horrible  thing!" 
Then,  after  a  minute's  silence,  I  added: 
"Suppose  we  go  back,  I  think  it  is  getting  cold." 
And  we  made  our  way  back  to  the  hotel. 


A    MEETING 


T  WAS  all  an  accident,  a   pure  acci- 
dent.     Tired    of    standing,    Baron 
d'Etraille    went  —  as    all    the    Prin- 
cess's   rooms    were    open    on   that 
particular  evening  —  into  an  empty 
bedroom,  which  appeared    almost 
dark  after  coming   out   of  the  bril- 
liantly-lighted drawing-rooms. 

He  looked  round  for  a  chair  in 
which  to  have  a  doze,  as  he  was  sure 
lis  wife  would  not  go  away  before  day- 
^ht.  As  soon  as  he  got  inside  the  door 
^ly-  he  saw  the  big  bed  with  its  azure-and-gold 
^o»  hangings,  in  the  middle  of  the  great  room, 
looking  like  a  catafalque  in  which  love  was  buried, 
for  the  Princess  was  no  longer  young.  Behind  it, 
a  large  bright  spot  looked  hke  a  lake  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance from  a  window  It  was  a  big  looking-glass, 
which,  discreetly  covered  with  dark  drapery  very 
rarely  let  down,  seemed  to  look  at  the  bed,  which 
was  its  accomplice.  One  might  almost  fancy  that  it 
felt  regrets,  and  that  one  was  going  to  see  in  it 
(192) 


A   MEETING  I93 

charming    shapes    of    nude    women    and    the    gentle 
movement  of  arms  about  to  embrace  them. 

The  Baron  stood  still  for  a  moment,  smihng  and 
rather  moved,  on  the  threshold  of  this  chamber  dedi- 
cated to  love.  But  suddenly  something  appeared  in 
the  looking-glass,  as  if  the  phantoms  which  he  had 
evoked  had  come  up  before  him.  A  man  and  a 
woman  who  had  been  sitting  on  a  low  couch  hidden 
in  the  shade  had  risen,  and  the  polished  surface,  re- 
flecting their  figures,  showed  that  they  were  kissing 
each  other  before  separating. 

The  Baron  recognized  his  wife  and  the  Marquis  de 
Cervigne.  He  turned  and  went  away  like  a  man  fully 
master  of  himself,  and  waited  till  it  was  day  before 
taking  away  the  Baroness.  But  he  had  no  longer  any 
thoughts  of  sleeping. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  he  said: 

"Madame,  I  saw  you  just  now  in  the  Princess  de 
Raynes's  room.  I  need  say  no  more,  for  I  am  not 
fond  either  of  reproaches,  acts  of  violence,  or  of  ridi- 
cule. As  I  wish  to  avoid  all  such  things,  we  shall 
separate  without  any  scandal.  Our  lawyers  will  settle 
your  position  according  to  my  orders.  You  will  be 
free  to  live  as  you  please  when  you  are  no  longer 
under  my  roof;  but,  as  you  will  continue  to  bear  my 
name,  I  must  warn  you  that  should  any  scandal 
arise,  I  shall  show  myself  inflexible." 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  he  stopped  her,  bowed, 
and  left  the  room. 

He  was  more  astonished  and  sad  than  unhappy. 
He  had  loved  her  dearly  during  the  first  period  of 
their  married  life;  but  his  ardor  had  cooled,  and  now 
he  often  had  a  caprice,  either  in  a  theater  or  in  soci- 

f    G.  de  M.— IJ 


194 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


ety,  though  he  always  preserved  a  certain  liking  for 
the  Baroness. 

She  was  very  young,  hardly  four-and-twenty, 
small,  slight, —  too  slight, —  and  very  fair.  She  was 
a  true  Parisian  doll:  clever,  spoiled,  elegant,  coquettish, 
witty,  with  more  charm  than  real  beauty.  He  used  to 
say  familiarly  to   his  brother,  when   speaking   of  her: 

"My  wife  is  charming,  attractive,  but — there  is 
nothing  to  lay  hold  of.  She  is  like  a  glass  of  cham- 
pagne that  is  all  froth — when  you  have  got  to  the 
wine  it  is  very  good,  but  there  is  too  little  of  it,  un- 
fortunately." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  great  agita- 
tion, thinking  of  a  thousand  things.  At  one  moment 
he  felt  in  a  great  rage,  and  felt  inclined  to  give  the 
Marquis  a  good  thrashing,  to  horsewhip  him  publicly, 
in  the  club.  But  he  thought  that  would  not  do,  it 
would  not  be  the  thing;  he  would  be  laughed  at,  and 
not  the  other,  and  he  felt  that  his  anger  proceeded 
more  from  wounded  vanity  than  from  a  broken  heart. 
So  he  went  to  bed,  but  could  not  get  to  sleep. 

A  few  days  afterward  it  was  known  in  Paris  that 
the  Baron  and  Baroness  d'Etraille  had  agreed  to  an 
amicable  separation  on  account  of  incompatibility  of 
temper.  Nobody  suspected  anything,  nobody  laughed, 
and  nobody  was  astonished. 

The  Baron,  however,  to  avoid  meeting  her,  trav- 
eled for  a  year;  then  he  spent  the  summer  at  the  sea- 
side, and  the  autumn  in  shooting,  returning  to  Paris 
for  the  winter.     He  did  not  meet  his  wife  once. 

He  did  not  even  know  what  people  said  about 
her.  At  any  rate,  she  took  care  to  save  appearances, 
ind  that  was  all  he  asked  for. 


A   MEETING 


195 


Ke  got  dreadfully  bored,  traveled  again,  restored 
his  old  castle  of  Villebosc  —  which  took  him  two 
years;  then  for  over  a  year  he  received  relays  of 
friends  there,  till  at  last,  tired  of  all  these  common- 
place, so-called  pleasures,  he  returned  to  his  mansion 
in  the  Rue  de  Lills,  just  six  years  after  their  sepa- 
ration. 

He  was  then  forty-five,  with  a  good  crop  of  gray 
hair,  rather  stout,  and  with  that  melancholy  look  of 
people  who  have  been  handsome,  sought  after,  much 
liked,  and  are  deteriorating  daily. 

A  month  after  his  return  to  Paris  he  took  cold  on 
coming  out  of  his  club,  and  had  a  bad  cough,  so  his 
medical  man  ordered  him  to  Nice  for  the  rest  of  the 
winter. 

He  started  by  the  express  on  Monday  evening. 
He  was  late,  got  to  the  station  only  a  very  short 
time  before  the  departure  of  the  train,  and  had  barely 
time  to  get  into  a  carriage,  with  only  one  other  oc- 
cupant, who  was  sitting  in  a  corner  so  wrapped  in 
furs  and  cloaks  that  he  could  not  even  make  out 
whether  it  were  a  man  or  a  woman,  as  nothing  of 
the  figure  could  be  seen.  When  he  perceived  that 
he  could  not  find  out,  he  put  on  his  traveling-cap, 
rolled  himself  up  in  his  rugs,  and  stretched  himself 
out  comfortably  to  sleep. 

He  did  not  wake  up  till  the  day  was  breaking, 
and  looked  immediately  at  his  fellow-traveler.  He 
had  not  stirred  all  night,  and  seemed  still  to  be 
sound  asleep. 

M.  d'Etraille  made  use  of  the  opportunity  to  brush 
his  hair  and  his  beard,  and  to  try  and  freshen  him- 
self   up    a    little    generally,   for    a    night's    traveling 


!96  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

changes  one's  looks  very  much  when  one  has  at- 
tained a  certain  age. 

A  great  poet  has   said: 

"When  we  are  young,  our  mornings  are  triumphant!" 

Then  we  wake  up  with  a  cool  skin,  a  bright  eye, 
and  glossy  hair.  When  one  grows  older  one  wakes 
up  in  a  very  different  state.  Dull  eyes,  red,  swollen 
cheeks,  dry  lips,  the  hair  and  beard  all  disarranged, 
impart  an  old,  fatigued,  worn-out  look  to  the  face. 

The  Baron  opened  his  traveling  dressing-case, 
made  himself  as  tidy  as  he  could,  and  then  waited 

The  engine  whistled  and  the  train  stopped,  and 
his  neighbor  moved.  No  doubt  he  was  awake.  They 
started  off  again,  and  then  an  oblique  ray  of  the  sun 
shone  into  the  carriage  just  on  to  the  sleeper,  who 
moved  again,  shook  himself,  and  then  calmly  showed 
his  face. 

It  was  a  young,  fair,  pretty,  stout  woman,  and  the 
Baron  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  believe.  He  could  really  have  sworn  that  it 
was  his  wife  —  but  wonderfully  changed  for  the  bet- 
ter: stouter  —  why,  she  had  grown  as  stout  as  he  was 
—  only  it  suited  her  much  better  than  it  did  him. 

She  looked  at  him  quietly,  did  not  seem  to  recog- 
nize him,  and  then  slowly  laid  aside  her  wraps.  She 
had  that  calm  assurance  of  a  woman  who  is  sure  of 
herself,  the  insolent  audacity  of  a  first  awaking, 
knowing  and  feeling  that  she  was  in  her  full  beauty 
and  freshness. 

The  Baron  really  lost  his  head.  Was  it  his  wife, 
or  somebody  else  who   was   as  likt-  her  as  any  sister 


A   MEETING  I97 

could  be?    As  he  had   not   seen   her  for  six  years  he 
might  be  mistaken. 

She  yawned,  and  he  knew  her  by  the  gesture. 
She  turned  and  looked  at  him  again,  calmly,  indiffer- 
ently, as  if  she  scarcely  saw  him,  and  then  looked 
out  at  the  country  again. 

He  was  upset  and  dreadfully  perplexed,  and 
waited,  looking  at  her  sideways,  steadfastly. 

Yes;  it  was  certainly  his  wife.  How  could  he 
possibly  have  doubted?  There  could  certainly  not  be 
two  noses  like  that,  and  a  thousand  recollections 
flashed  through  him,  slight  details  of  her  body,  a 
beauty-spot  on  one  of  her  limbs  and  another  on  her 
back.  How  often  he  had  kissed  them!  He  felt  the 
old  feeling  of  the  intoxication  of  love  stealing  over 
him,  and  he  called  to  mind  the  sweet  odor  of  her 
skin,  her  smile  when  she  put  her  arms  on  to  his 
shoulders,  the  soft  intonations  of  her  voice,  all  her 
graceful,  coaxing  ways. 

But  how  she  had  changed  and  improved!  It  was 
she  and  yet  not  she.  He  thought  her  riper,  more 
developed,  more  of  a  woman,  more  seductive,  more 
desirable,  adorably  desirable. 

And  this  strange,  unknown  woman,  whom  he  had 
accidentally  met  in  a  railway-carriage  belonged  to 
him;  he  had  only  to  say  to  her: 

"I  insist  upon  it." 

He  had  formerly  slept  in  her  arms,  existed  only  in 
her  love,  and  now  he  had  found  her  again  certainly, 
but  so  changed  that  he  scarcely  knew  her.  It  was 
another,  and  yet  she  at  the  same  time.  It  was  an- 
other who  had  been  born,  formed,  and  grown  since 
he  had  left    her.     It  was   she,  indeed;    she  whom    he 


198 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


had  possessed  but  who  was  now  altered,  with  a  more 
assured  smile  and  .c^reater  self-possession.  There 
were  two  women  in  one,  mingling  a  great  deal  of 
what  was  new  and  unknown  with  many  sweet  rec- 
ollections of  the  past.  There  was  something  singular, 
disturbing,  exciting  about  it — a  kind  of  mystery  of 
love  in  which  there  floated  a  delicious  confusion.  It 
was  his  wife  in  a  new  body  and  in  new  flesh  which 
his  lips  had  never  pressed. 

And  he  remembered  that  in  six  or  seven  years 
everything  changes  in  us,  only  outlines  can  be  recog- 
nized, and  sometimes  even  they  disappear. 

The  blood,  the  hair,  the  skin,  all  change,  and  are 
reconstituted,  and  when  people  have  not  seen  each 
other  for  a  long  time  they  find,  when  they  meet, 
another  totally  different  being,  although  it  be  the 
same  and  bear  the  same  name. 

And  the  heart  also  can  change.  Ideas  may  be 
modified  and  renewed,  so  that  in  forty  years  of  life 
we  may,  by  gradual  and  constant  transformations,  be- 
come four  or  five  totally   new  and   different  beings. 

He  dwelt  on  this  thought  till  it  troubled  him;  it 
had  first  taken  possession  of  him  when  he  surprised 
her  in  the  Princess's  room.  He  was  not  the  least 
angry;  it  was  not  the  same  woman  that  he  was 
looking  at — that  thin,  excitable  little  doll  of  those 
days. 

What  was  he  to  do?  How  should  he  address  her? 
and  what  could  he  say  to  her?  Had  she  recognized 
him  ? 

The  train  stopped  again.  He  got  up,  bowed,  and 
said:  "Bertha,  do  you  want  anything  I  can  bring 
you?" 


A  MEETING  1 99 

She  looked  at  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  answered, 
without  showing  the  slightest  surprise  or  confusion 
or  anger,  but  with  the  most  perfect  indifference: 

"I  do  not  want  anything  —  thank  you." 

He  got  out  and  walked  up  and  down  the  platform 
a  little  in  order  to  think,  and,  as  it  were,  to  recover 
his  senses  after  a  fall.  What  should  he  do  now?  If 
he  got  into  another  carriage  it  would  look  as  if  he 
were  running  away.  Should  he  be  polite  or  impor- 
tunate ?  That  would  look  as  if  he  were  asking  for 
forgiveness.  Should  he  speak  as  if  he  were  her 
master?  He  would  look  like  a  fool,  and  besides,  he 
really  had  no  right  to  do  so. 

He  got  in  again  and  took  his  place. 

During  his  absence  she  had  hastily  arranged  her 
dress  and  hair,  and  was  now  lying  stretched  out  on 
the  seat,  radiant,  but  without  showing  any  emotion. 

He  turned  to  her,  and  said:  "My  dear  Bertha, 
since  this  singular  chance  has  brought  us  together 
after  a  separation  of  six  years  —  a  quite  friendly  sepa- 
ration—  are  we  to  continue  to  look  upon  each  other 
as  irreconcilable  enemies?  We  are  shut  up  together, 
Ute-d-tete,  which  is  so  much  the  better  or  so  much  the 
worse.  I  am  not  going  to  get  into  another  carriage, 
so  don't  you  think  it  is  preferable  to  talk  as  friends 
till  the  end  of  our  journey?" 

She  answered  quite  calmly  again: 

"Just  as  you  please." 

Then  he  suddenly  stopped,  really  not  knowing 
what  to  say;  but  as  he  had  plenty  of  assurance,  he 
sat  down  on  the  middle  seat,  and  said: 

"Well,  I  see  I  must  pay  my  court  to  you;  so 
much   the   better.     It    is,  however,  really   a    pleasure, 


200  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

for  you  are  charming.  You  cannot  imagine  how  you 
have  improved  in  the  last  six  years.  I  do  not  know 
any  woman  who  could  give  me  that  delightful  sensa- 
tion which  I  experienced  just  now  when  you  emerged 
from  your  wraps.  I  could  really  have  thought  such  a 
change  impossible." 

Without  moving  her  head  or  looking  at  him,  she 
said:  "I  cannot  say  the  same  with  regard  to  you; 
you  have  certainly  deteriorated  a  great  deal." 

He  got  red  and  confused,  and  then,  with  a  smile 
of  resignation,  he  said: 

"You  are  rather  hard." 

"Why?"  was  her  reply.  "I  am  only  stating 
facts.  I  don't  suppose  you  intend  to  offer  me  your 
love.?  It  must,  therefore,  be  a  matter  of  perfect  in- 
difference to  you  what  I  think  about  you.  But  I 
see  it  is  a  painful  subject,  so  let  us  talk  of  some- 
thing else.  What  have  you  been  doing  since  I  last 
saw  you?" 

He  felt  rather  out  of  countenance,  and  stammered: 

"I?  1  have  traveled,  shot,  and  grown  old,  as  you 
see.     And  you  ?" 

She  said,  quite  calmly:  "I  have  taken  care  of  ap- 
pearances, as  you  ordered  me." 

He  was  very  nearly  saying  something  brutal,  but 
he  checked  himself,  and  kissed  his  wife's  hand: 

"And  I  thank  you,"  he  said. 

She  was  surprised.  He  was  indeed  strong  and 
always  master  of  himself. 

He  went  on:  ''As  you  have  acceded  to  my  first 
request,  shall  we  now  talk  without  any  bitter- 
ness ?" 

She  made  a  little  movement  of  surprise. 


A  M^ET:^;G  2c: 

"Bitterness  !  I  don't  feel  any;  you  are  a  complete 
stranger  to  me;  I  am  only  trying  to  keep  up  a  diffi- 
cult conversation." 

He  was  still  looking  at  her,  carried  away  in  spite 
of  her  harshness,  and  he  felt  seized  with  a  brutal  de- 
sire, the  desire  of  the  master. 

Perceiving  that  she  had  hurt  his  feelings,  she  said: 

"How  old  are  you  now?  I  thought  you  were 
younger  than  you  look." 

He  grew  rather  pale: 

"  I  am  forty-five";  and  then  he  added:  "I  forgot 
to  ask  after  Princess  de  Raynes.  Are  you  still  inti- 
mate with  her?" 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  hated  him: 

"  Yes,  certainly  1  am.  She  is  very  well,  thank 
you." 

They  remained  sitting  side  by  side,  agitated  and 
irritated.     Suddenly  he  said: 

"My  dear  Bertha,  I  have  changed  my  mind.  You 
are  my  wife,  and  I  expect  you  to  come  with  me  to- 
day. You  have,  I  think,  improved  both  morally  and 
physically,  and  I  am  going  to  take  you  back  again. 
1  am  your  husband  and  it  is  my  right  to  do  so." 

She  was  stupefied,  and  looked  at  him,  trying  to 
divine  his  thoughts;  but  his  face  was  resolute  and 
impenetrable. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  "but  I  have  made 
other  engagements." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  you,"  was  his  reply. 
"The  law  gives  me  the  power,  and  I  mean  to 
use  it." 

They  were  getting  to  Marseilles,  and  the  train 
whistled    and    slackened    speed.      The    Baroness    got 


202  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

up,  carefully  rolled  up  her  wraps,  and  then  turning  to 
her  husband,  she  said: 

"My  dear  Raymond,  do  not  make  a  bad  use  of 
the  tete-d-tete  which  I  had  carefully  prepared.  I 
wished  to  take  precautions,  according  to  your  advice, 
so  that  i  might  have  nothing  to  fear  from  you  or 
from  other  people,  whatever  might  happen.  You 
are   going  to  Nice,  are  you  not?" 

"I  shall  go  wherever  you  go." 

"Not  at  all;  just  listen  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  that 
you  will  leave  me  in  peace.  In  a  few  moments, 
when  we  get  to  the  station,  you  will  see  the  Prin- 
cess de  Raynes  and  Countess  Hermit  waiting  for  me 
with  their  husbands.  I  wished  them  to  see  us,  and 
to  know  that  we  had  spent  the  night  together  in  the 
railway-carriage.  Don't  be  alarmed;  they  will  tell  it 
everywhere  as  a  most  surprising  fact. 

"I  told  you  just  now  that  I  had  most  carefully 
followed  your  advice  and  saved  appearances.  Any- 
thing else  does  not  matter,  does  it?  Well,  in  order 
to  do  so,  I  wished  to  be  seen  with  you.  You  told 
me  carefully  to  avoid  any  scandal,  and  I  am  avoiding 
it,  for,  I  am  afraid  —  I  am  afraid  — " 

She  waited  till  the  train  had  quite  stopped,  and  as 
her  friends  ran  up  to  open  the  carriage  door,  she 
said: 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  am  enceinte." 

The  Princess  stretched  out  her  arms  to  embrace 
her,  and  the  Baroness  said,  pointing  to  the  Baron, 
who  was  dumb  with  astonishment,  and  trying  to  get 
at  the  truth: 

"You  do  not  recognize  Raymond?  He  has  cer- 
tainly changed  a  good  deal,  and   he   agreed   to   come 


A   MEETING  203 

with  me  so  that  I  might  not  travel  alone.  We  take 
little  trips  like  this  occasionally,  like  good  friends 
who  cannot  live  together.  We  are  going  to  separate 
here;    he  has  had  enough  of  me  already." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  which  he  took  mechanically, 
and  then  she  jumped  out  on  to  the  platform  among 
her  friends,  who  were  waiting  for  her. 

The  Baron  hastily  shut  the  carriage  door,  for  he 
was  too  much  disturbed  to  say  a  word  or  come  to 
any  determination.  He  heard  his  wife's  voice,  and 
their  merry  laughter  as  they  went  away. 

He  never  saw  her  again,  nor  did  he  ever  discover 
whether  she  had  told  him  a  lie  or  was  speaking  the 
^ruth. 


A    NEW    YEAR'S    GIFT 


ACQUES  DE  Randal,  having  dined  at 
home  alone,  told  his  valet  he  might 
go,  and  then  sat  down  at  a  table  to 
write  his  letters. 

He  finished  out  every  year  by  writ- 
ing and  dreaming,  making  for  himself 
a  sort  of  review  of  things  that  had 
happened  since  last  New  Year's  Day, 
things  that  were  now  all  over  and  dead; 
and,  in  proportion  as  the  faces  of  his 
;nds  rose  up  before  his  eyes,  he  wrote 
them  a  few  lines,  a  cordial  "Good  morn- 
ing" on  the  first  of  January. 
So  he  sat  down,  opened  a  drawer,  took  out 
/  of  it  a  woman's  photograph,  gazed  at  it  a  few 
moments,  and  kissed  it.  Then,  having  laid  it  beside 
a  sheet  of  note-paper,  he  began: 

"My  Dear  Irene:  You  must  have  by  this  time 
the  little  souvenir  which  I  sent  you.  1  have  shut  my- 
self up  this  evening  in  order  to  tell  you  — " 

The    pen    here   ceased   to   move.     Jacques  rose  up 
and  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 
(204) 


A  NEW   YEAR'S   GIFT 


205 


For  the  last  six  months  he  had  a  mistress,  not  a 
mistress  Iii\e  the  others,  a  wom.an  with  whom  one 
engages  in  a  passing  intrigue,  of  the  theatrical  world 
or  the  demi-monde,  but  a  woman  whom  he  loved 
and  won.  He  was  no  longer  a  young  man,  although 
still  comparatively  young,  and  he  looked  on  life  se~ 
riously  in  a  positive  and  practical  spirit. 

Accordingly,  he  drew  up  the  balance-sheet  of  his 
passion,  as  he  drew  up  every  year  the  balance-sheet 
of  friendships  that  were  ended  or  freshly  contracted, 
of  circumstances  and  persons  that  had  entered  into 
his  life.  His  first  ardor  of  love  having  grown  calmer, 
he  asked  himself,  with  the  precision  of  a  merchant 
making  a  calculation,  what  was  the  state  of  his  heart 
with  regard  to  her,  and  he  tried  to  form  an  idea  of 
what  it  would  be  in  the  future.  He  found  there  a 
great  and  deep  affection,  made  up  of  tenderness,  grat- 
itude, and  the  thousand  subtleties  which  give  birth  to 
long  and  powerful  attachments. 

A  ring  of  the  bell  made  him  start.  He  hesitated. 
Should  he  open  ?  But  he  deemed  it  was  his  duty  to 
open,  on  this  New  Year's  night,  to  the  Unknown 
who  knocks  while  passing,  no  matter  whom  it  may 
be. 

So  he  took  a  wax-candle,  passed  through  the  ante- 
chamber, removed  the  bolts,  turned  the  key,  drew  the 
door  back,  and  saw  his  mistress  standing  pale  as  a 
corpse,  leaning  against  the  wall. 

He  stammered:    "What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

She  replied:    "Are  you  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Without  servants?" 

"Yes." 


2o6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"You  are  not  going  out?" 

"No." 

She  entered  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  knew 
the  house.  As  soon  as  she  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
she  sank  into  the  sofa,  and,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  began  to  weep  dreadfully. 

He  kneeled  down  at  her  feet,  seized  hold  of  her 
hands  to  remove  them  from  her  eyes,  so  that  he 
might  look  at  them,  and  exclaimed: 

"Irene,  Irene,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  I 
implore  of  you  to  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  her  sobs  she  murmured:  "I 
can  no  longer  live  hke  this." 

He  did  not  understand. 

"Like  this?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes.  I  can  no  longer  live  like  this.  I  have  en- 
dured so  much.     He  struck  me  this  afternoon." 

"Who — your  husband?" 

"Yes  —  my  husband." 

"Ha!" 

He  was  astonished,  having  never  suspected  that 
her  husband  could  be  brutal.  He  was  a  man  of  the 
world,  of  the  better  class,  a  clubman,  a  lover  of 
horses,  a  theater-goer,  and  an  expert  swordsman;  he 
was  known,  talked  about,  appreciated  everywhere, 
having  very  courteous  manners,  but  a  very  mediocre 
intellect,  an  absence  of  education  and  of  the  real  cul- 
ture needed  in  order  to  think  like  all  well-bred  peo- 
ple, and  finally  a  respect  for  all  conventional  prejudices. 

He  appeared  to  devote  himself  to  his  wife,  as  a 
man  ought  to  do  in  the  case  of  wealthy  and  well- 
bred  people.     He  displayed  enough   of  anxiety  about 


A   NEW   YEAR'S   GIFT 


207 


her  wishes,  her  health,  her  dresses,  and,  beyond  that, 
left  her  perfectly  free. 

Randal,  having  become  Irene's  friend,  had  a  right 
to  the  affectionate  hand-clasp  which  every  husband 
endowed  with  good  manners  owes  to  his  wife's  in- 
timate acquaintances.  Then,  when  Jacques,  after  hav- 
ing been  for  some  time  the  friend,  became  the  lover, 
his  relations  with  the  husband  were  more  cordial. 

Jacques  had  never  dreamed  that  there  were  storms 
in  this  household,  and  he  was  scared  at  this  unex- 
pected revelation. 

He  asked: 

"How  did  it  happen?    Tell  me." 

Thereupon  she  related  a  long  history,  the  entire 
history  of  her  life,  since  the  day  of  her  marriage  — 
the  first  discussion  arising  out  of  a  mere  nothing, 
then  accentuating  itself  in  the  estrangement  which 
grows  up  each  day  between  two  opposite  types  of 
character. 

Then  came  quarrels,  a  complete  separation,  not 
apparent,  but  real;  next,  her  husband  showed  himself 
aggressive,  suspicious,  violent.  Now,  he  was  jealous, 
jealous  of  Jacques,  and  this  day  even,  after  a  scene, 
he  had  struck  her. 

She  added  with  decision:  "I  will  not  go  back  to 
him.     Do  with  me  what  you  like." 

Jacques  sat  down  opposite  to  her,  their  knees 
touching  each  other.     He  caught  hold  of  her  hands: 

"My  dear  love,  you  are  going  to  commit  a  gross, 
an  irreparable  folly.  If  you  want  to  quit  your  hus- 
band, put  wrongs  on  one  side,  so  that  your  situation 
as  a  woman  of  the  world  may  be  saved," 

She  asked,  as  she  cast  at  him  a  restless  glance: 


2o8  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

''Then,  what  do  you  advise  me?" 

'"'To  go  back  home,  and  to  put  up  with  your  life 
there  till  the  day  when  you  can  obtain  either  a  sepa- 
ration or  a  divorce,  with  the  honors  of  war." 

"Is  not  this  thing  which  you  advise  me  to  do  a 
little  cowardly?" 

"No;  it  is  wise  and  reasonable.  You  have  a  high 
position,  a  reputation  to  safeguard,  friends  to  pre- 
serve, and  relations  to  deal  with.  You  must  not  lose 
all  these  through  a  mere  caprice." 

She  rose  up,  and  said  with  violence: 

"Well,  no!  I  cannot  have  any  more  of  it!  It  is 
at  an  end!   it  is  at  an  end!" 

Then,  placing  her  two  hands  on  her  lover's  shoul- 
ders and  looking  at  him  straight  in  the  face,  she 
asked: 

"Do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Really  and  truly?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  keep  me!" 

He  exclaimed: 

"Keep  you?  In  my  own  house?  Here?  Why, 
you  are  mad.  It  would  mean  losing  you  forever;  los- 
ing you  beyond  hope  of  recall!     You  are  mad!" 

She  replied,  slowly  and  seriously,  like  a  woman 
who  feels  the  weight  of  her  words: 

"Listen,  Jacques.  He  has  forbidden  me  to  see  you 
again,  and  1  will  not  play  this  comedy  of  coming 
secretly  to  your  house.  You  must  either  lose  me  or 
take   me." 

"  My  dear  Irene,  in  that  case,  obtain  your  divorce, 
and  I  will  marry  you." 


A  NEW   YEAR'S   GIFT  209 

"Yes,  you  will  marry  me  in  —  two  years  at  the 
soonest.     Yours  is  a  patient  love." 

"LooPc  here!  Reflect!  If  you  remain  here,  he'll 
come  to-morrow  to  take  you  away,  seeing  that  he 
is  your  husband,  seeing  that  he  has  right  and  law 
on   his   side." 

"I  did  not  ask  you  to  keep  me  in  your  own 
house,  Jacques,  but  to  take  me  anywhere  you  like. 
1  thought  you  loved  me  enough  to  do  that.  1  have 
made  a  mistake.     Good-bye!" 

She  turned  round,  and  went  toward  the  door  so 
quickly  that  he  was  only  able  to  catch  hold  of  her 
when  she  was  outside  the  room. 

"Listen,  Irene." 

She  struggled,  and  did  not  want  to  listen  to  him 
any  longer,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  with  these 
words  only  on  her  lips: 

"Let  me  alone!  let  me  alone!  let  me  alone!" 

He  made  her  sit  down  by  force,  and  falling  once 
more  on  his  knees  at  her  feet,  he  now  brought  for- 
ward a  number  of  arguments  and  counsels  to  make 
her  understand  the  folly  and  terrible  risk  of  her  proj- 
ect. He  omitted  nothing  which  he  deemed  it  neces- 
sary to  say  to  convince  her,  finding  in  his  very 
affection  for  her  strong  motives  of  persuasion. 

As  she  remained  silent  and  cold,  he  begged  of  her, 
implored  of  her  to  listen  to  him,  to  trust  him,  to  fol- 
low his  advice. 

When  he  had  finished  speaking,  she  only  replied: 

"Are  you  disposed  to  let  me  go  away  now  .^ 
Take  away  your  hands,  so  that  1  may  rise  up." 

"  Look  here,  Irene." 

"Will  you  let  go?" 

5     G.  de  M.  — 14 


210  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Irene  —  is  your  resolution  irrevocable?" 

"Do  let  me  go." 

"Tell  me  only  whether  this  resolution,  this  foolish 
resolution  of  yours,  which  you  will  bitterly  regret,  is 
irrevocable  ?  " 

"Yes:  let  me  go!"  ' 

"Then  stay.  You  know  well  that  you  are  at 
home  here.     We  shall  go  away  to-morrow  morning." 

She  rose  up,  in  spite  of  him,  and  said  in  a  hard 
tone: 

"No.  It  is  too  late.  I  do  not  want  sacrifice;  I 
want  devotion." 

"Stay!  I  have  done  what  1  ought  to  do;  I  have 
said  what  I  ought  to  say.  I  have  no  further  respon- 
sibility on  your  behalf.  My  conscience  is  at  peace. 
Tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do,  and  I  will  obey." 

She  resumed  her  seat,  looked  at  him  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  asked,  in  a  very  calm  voice: 

"Explain,  then." 

"How  is  that?  What  do  you  wish  me  to  ex- 
plain?" 

"Everything  —  everything  that  you  have  thought 
about  before  coming  to  this  resolution.  Then  I  will 
see  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"But  I  have  thought  about  nothing  at  all.  I  ought 
to  warn  you  that  you  are  going  to  accomplish  an  act 
of  folly.  You  persist;  then  I  ask  to  share  in  this  act 
of  folly,  and  I  even  insist  on  it." 

"It  is  not  natural  to  change  one's  opinion  so 
quickly." 

"Listen,  my  dear  love.  It  is  not  a  question  here 
of  sacrifice  or  devotion.  On  the  day  when  I  realized 
that  I  loved  you,   I  said  this  to  myself,  which  every 


A  NEW   YEAR'S   GIFT  211 

lover  ought  to  say  to  himself  in  the  same  case:  'The 
man  who  loves  a  woman,  who  makes  an  effort  to 
win  her,  who  gets  her  and  who  takes  her,  contracts 
so  far  as  he  is  himself  and  so  far  as  she  is  concerned, 
a  sacred  engagement.'  It  is,  mark  you,  a  question  of 
dealing  with  a  woman  like  you,  and  not  with  a 
woman  of  an  impulsive  and  yielding  disposition, 

"Marriage,  which  has  a  great  social  value,  a  great 
legal  value,  possesses  in  my  eyes  only  a  very  slight 
moral  value,  taking  into  account  the  conditions  under 
which  it  generally  takes  place. 

"Therefore,  when  a  woman,  united  by  this  lawful 
bond,  but  having  no  attachment  to  a  husband  whom 
she  cannot  love,  a  woman  whose  heart  is  free,  meets 
a  man  for  whom  she  cares,  and  gives  herself  to 
him,  when  a  man  who  has  no  other  tie  takes  a 
woman  in  this  way,  I  say  that  they  pledge  them- 
selves toward  each  other  by  this  mutual  and  free 
agreement  much  more  than  by  the  '  Yes '  uttered  in 
the  presence  of  the  Mayor. 

"1  say  that,  if  they  are  both  honorable  persons, 
their  union  must  be  more  intimate,  more  real,  more 
healthy  than  if  all  the  sacraments  had  consecrated  it. 

"This  woman  risks  everything.  And  it  is  exactly 
because  she  knows  it,  because  she  gives  everything, 
her  heart,  her  body,  her  soul,  her  honor,  her  life,  be- 
cause she  has  foreseen  all  miseries,  all  dangers,  all 
catastrophes,  because  she  dares  to  do  a  bold  act,  an 
intrepid  act,  because  she  is  prepared,  determined  to 
brave  everything  —  her  husband  who  might  kill  her, 
and  society  which  may  cast  her  out.  This  is  why 
she  is  heroic  in  her  conjugal  infidelity;  this  is  why 
her  lover  in  taking  her  mu^t  also  have  foreseen  every- 


212  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

thing,  and  preferred  her  to  everything,  whatever 
might  happen.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  I  spoke 
in  the  beginning  like  a  man  of  sense  whose  duty  it 
was  to  warn  you;  and  now  there  is  left  in  me  only 
one  man — the  man  who  loves  you.  Say,  then,  what 
I  am  to  do!" 

Radiant,  she  closed  his  mouth  with  her  lips,  and 
said  to  him  in  a  low  tone: 

"It  is  not  true,  darling!  There  is  nothing  the 
matter!  My  husband  does  not  suspect  anything.  But 
1  wanted  to  see,  I  wanted  to  know,  what  you  would 
do.  1  wished  for  a  New  Year's  gift  —  the  gift  of 
your  heart  —  another  gift  besides  the  necklace  you 
have  just  sent  me.  You  have  given  it  to  me.  Thanks! 
thanks!  God  be  thanked  for  the  happiness  you  have 
given  me!" 


MY    UNCLE    SOSTHENES 


Y   UNCLE   SosTHENES  was    a   Free- 
thinker,   like    many    others    are, 
from    pure   stupidity;  people  are 
very   often    religious    in    the    same 
way.     The    mere    sight   of   a    priest 
threw  him    into    a  violent    rage;    he 
would  shake  his    fist  and    grimace  at 
him,   and   touch  a  piece   of  iron  when 
the  priest's    back  was  turned,  forgetting 
that    the    latter    aciion    showed    a    belief 
after   all,  the  belief  in  the  evil  eye. 

Now  when  beliefs  are  unreasonable  one 
should  have  all  or  none  at  all.  I  myself  am 
a  Freethinker;  I  revolt  at  all  the  dogmas  which 
have  invented  the  fear  of  death,  but  I  feel  no  anger 
toward  places  of  worship,  be  they  Catholic  Apostolic, 
Roman,  Protestant,  Greek,  Russian,  Buddhist,  Jewish, 
or  Mohammedan.  I  have  a  peculiar  manner  of  looking 
at  them  and  explaining  them.  A  place  of  worship 
represents  the  homage  paid  by  man  to  "The  Un- 
known." The  more  extended  our  thoughts  and  our 
views  become,  the  more  The  Unknown  diminishes, 
and  the  more  places  of  worship  will  decay.     1,   how- 


214 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


ever,  in  the  place  of  church  furniture,  in  the  place  of 
pulpits,  reading  desks,  altars,  and  so  on,  would  fit 
them  up  with  telescopes,  microscopes,  and  electrical 
machines;  that  is  all. 

My  uncle  and  1  differed  on  nearly  every  point. 
He  was  a  patriot,  while  1  was  not  —  for  after  all  pa- 
triotism is  a  kind  of  religion;  it  is  the  egg  from  which 
wars  are  hatched. 

My  uncle  was  a  Freemason,  and  I  used  to  declare 
that  they  are  stupider  than  old  women  devotees. 
That  is  my  opinion,  and  I  maintain  it;  if  we  must 
have  any  religion  at  all  the  old  one  is  good  enough 
for  me. 

What  is  their  object?  Mutual  help  to  be  obtained 
by  tickling  the  palms  of  each  other's  hands.  I  see 
no  harm  in  it,  for  they  put  into  practice  the  Chris- 
tian precept:  "Do  unto  others  as  ye  would  they 
should  do  unto  you."  The  only  difference  consists 
in  the  tickling,  but  it  does  not  seem  worth  while  to 
make  such  a  fuss  about  lending  a  poor  devil  half-a- 
crown. 

To  all  my  arguments  my  uncle's  reply  used  to  be: 

"We  are  raising  up  a  religion  against  a  religion; 
Freethought  will  kill  clericalism.  Freemasonry  is  the 
headquarters  of  those  who  are  demolishing  all  deities." 

"Very  well,  my  dear  uncle,"  I  would  reply  (in 
my  heart  1  felt  inclined  to  say,  "You  old  idiot!"); 
"it  is  just  that  v/hich  I  am  blaming  you  for.  Instead 
of  destroying,  you  are  organizing  competition;  it  is 
only  a  case  of  lowering  the  prices.  And  then,  if  you 
only  admitted  Freethinkers  among  you  I  could  under- 
stand it,  but  you  admit  anybody.  You  have  a  number 
of    Catholics    among    you,    even    the    leaders    of   the 


MY   UNCLE  SOSTHENES  21 5 

party.  Pius  IX.  is  said  to  have  been  one  of  you  be- 
fore he  became  Pope.  If  you  call  a  society  with 
such  an  organization  a  bulwark  against  clericalism,  I 
think  it  is  an   extremely  weak  one." 

"My  dear  boy,"  my  uncle  would  reply,  with  a 
wink,  "our  most  formidable  actions  are  political; 
slowly  and  surely  we  are  everywhere  undermining 
the  monarchical  spirit." 

Then  I  broke  out:  "Yes,  you  are  very  clever!  If 
you  tell  me  that  Freemasonry  is  an  election-machine, 
I  will  grant  it  you.  1  will  never  deny  that  it  is  used 
as  a  machine  to  control  candidates  of  all  shades;  if 
you  say  that  it  is  only  used  to  hoodwink  people,  to 
drill  them  to  go  to  the  voting-urn  as  soldiers  are 
sent  under  fire,  I  agree  with  you;  if  you  declare  that 
it  is  indispensable  to  all  political  ambitions  because 
it  changes  all  its  members  into  electoral  agents,  I 
should  say  to  you,  'That  is  as  clear  as  the  sun.' 
But  when  you  tell  me  that  it  serves  to  undermine  the 
monarchical  spirit,  I  can  only  laugh  in  your  face. 

"Just  consider  that  vast  and  democratic  associa- 
tion which  had  Prince  Napoleon  for  its  Grand  Master 
under  the  Empire;  which  has  the  Crown  Prince  for  its 
Grand  Master  in  Germany,  the  Czar's  brother  in  Russia, 
?nd  to  which  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  King  Hum- 
bert and  nearly  all  the  royalists  of  the  globe  belong." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  my  uncle  said;  "but  all 
these  persons  are  serving  our  projects  without  guess- 
ing  it." 

I  felt  inclined  to  tell  him  he  was  talking  a  pack  of 
nonsense. 

It  was,  however,  indeed  a  sight  to  see  my  uncle 
when  he  had  a  Freemason  to  dinner. 


2i6  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

On  meeting  they  shook  hands  in  a  manner  that 
was  irresistibly  funny;  one  could  sec  that  they  were 
going  through  a  series  of  secret  mysterious  pressures. 
When  I  wished  to  put  my  uncle  in  a  rage,  I  had 
only  to  tell  him  that  dogs  also  have  a  manner  which 
savors  very  much  of  Freemasonry,  when  they  greet 
one  another  on  meeting. 

Then  my  uncle  would  take  his  friend  into  a  corner 
to  tell  him  something  important,  and  at  dinner  they 
had  a  peculiar  way  of  looking  at  each  other,  and  of 
drinking  to  each  other,  in  a  manner  as  if  to  say: 
"We  know  all  about  it,  don't  we?" 

And  to  think  that  there  are  millions  on  the  face 
of  the  globe  who  are  amused  at  such  monkey  tricks! 
I  would  sooner  be  a  Jesuit. 

Now  in  our  town  there  really  was  an  old  Jesuit 
who  was  my  uncle's  detestation.  Every  time  he  met 
him,  or  if  he  only  saw  him  at  a  distance,  he  used  to 
say:  "Go  on,  you  toad!"  And  then,  taking  my 
arm,  he  would  whisper  to  me: 

"Look  here,  that  fellow  will  play  me  a  trick  some 
day  or  other,  I  feel  sure  of  it." 

My  uncle  spoke  quite  truly,  and  this  was  how  it 
happened,  through  my  fault  also. 

It  was  close  on  Holy  Week,  and  my  uncle  made 
up  his  mind  to  give  a  dinner  on  Good  Friday,  a  real 
dinner  with  his  favorite  chitterlings  and  black  pud- 
dings.    I  resisted  as  much  as  I  could,  and  said: 

"I  shall  eat  meat  on  that  day,  but  at  home,  quite 
by  myself.  Your  manifestation,  as  you  call  it,  is 
an  idiotic  idea.  Why  should  you  manifest  ?  What 
does  it  matter  to  you  if  people  do  not  eat  any 
meat?" 


MY   UNCLE  SOSTHENES  217 

But  my  uncle  would  not  be  persuaded.  He  asked 
three  of  his  friends  to  dine  with  him  at  one  of  the 
best  restaurants  in  the  town,  and  as  he  was  going  to 
pay  the  bill,  I  had  certainly,  after  all,  no  scruples 
about  manifesting. 

At  four  o'clock  we  took  a  conspicuous  place  in 
the  most  frequented  restaurant  in  the  town,  and  my 
uncle  ordered  dinner  in  a  loud  voice,  for  six   o'clock. 

We  sat  down  punctually,  and  at  ten  o'clock  we 
had  not  finished.  Five  of  us  had  drunk  eighteen 
bottles  of  fine  still  wines,  and  four  of  champagne. 
Then  my  uncle  proposed  what  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  calling:  "The  archbishop's  feat."  Each  man  put 
six  small  glasses  in  front  of  him,  each  of  them  filled 
with  a  different  liqueur,  and  then  they  had  all  to  be 
emptied  at  one  gulp,  one  after  another,  while  one  of 
the  waiters  counted  twenty.  It  was  very  stupid,  but 
my  uncle  thought  it  was  very  suitable  to  the  occa- 
sion. 

At  eleven  o'clock  he  was  dead  drunk.  So  we 
had  to  take  him  home  in  a  cab  and  put  him  to  bed, 
and  one  could  easily  foresee  that  his  anti-clerical 
demonstration  would  end  in  a  terrible  fit  of  indi- 
gestion. 

As  I  was  going  back  to  my  lodgings,  being  rather 
drunk  myself,  with  a  cheerful  Machiavclian  drunken- 
ness which  quite  satisfied  all  my  instincts  of  scepti- 
cism, an  idea  struck  me. 

1  arranged  my  necktie,  put  on  a  look  of  great  dis- 
tress, and  went  and  rang  loudly  at  the  old  Jesuit's 
door.  As  he  was  deaf  he  made  me  wait  a  longish 
while,  but  at  length  he  appeared  at  his  window  in  a 
cotton  nightcap  and   asked  what  1  wanted. 


2i8  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

I  shouted  out  at  the  top  of  my  voice: 

"Make  haste,  reverend  Sir,  and  open  the  door;  a 
poor,  despairing,  sicl<  man  is  in  need  of  your  spiritual 
ministrations." 

The  good,  kind  man  put  on  his  trousers  as  quickly 
as  he  could  and  came  down  without  his  cassock.  I 
told  him  in  a  breathless  voice  that  my  uncle,  the  Free- 
thinker, had  been  taken  suddenly  ill.  Fearing  it  was 
going  to  be  something  serious  he  had  been  seized 
with  a  sudden  fear  of  death,  and  wished  to  see  a 
priest  and  talk  to  him;  to  have  his  advice  and  com- 
fort, to  make  up  with  the  Church,  and  to  confess,  so  as 
to  be  able  to  cross  the  dreaded  threshold  at  peace 
with  himself;  and  I  added  in  a  mocking  tone: 

"At  any  rate,  he  wishes  it,  and  if  it  does  him  no 
good  it  can  do  him  no  harm." 

The  old  Jesuit,  who  was  startled,  delighted,  and 
almost  trembling,  said  to  me: 

"Wait  a  moment,  my  son,  I  will  come  with 
you." 

But  I  replied:  "Pardon  me,  reverend  Father,  if  I 
do  not  go  with  you;  but  my  convictions  will  not  al- 
low me  to  do  so.  1  even  refused  to  come  and  fetch 
you,  so  1  beg  you  not  to  say  that  you  have  seen  me, 
but  to  declare  that  you  had  a  presentiment  —  a  sort 
of  revelation  of  his  illness." 

The  priest  consented,  and  went  off  quickly, 
knocked  at  my  uncle's  door,  was  soon  let  in,  and 
I  saw  the  black  cassock  disappear  within  that  strong- 
hold of  Freethought. 

I  hid  under  a  neighboring  gateway  to  wait  for 
events.  Had  he  been  well,  my  uncle  would  have 
half  murdered  the  Jesuit,  but   I   knew  that  he  would 


MY   UNCLE  SOSTHENES  219 

scarcely  be  able  to  move  an  arm,  and  I  asked  my- 
self, gleefully,  what  sort  of  a  scene  would  take  place 
between  these  antagonists  —  what  explanation  would 
be  given,  and  what  would  be  the  issue  of  this  situ- 
ation, which  my  uncle's  indignation  would  render 
more  tragic  still  ? 

1  laughed  till  I  had  to  hold  my  sides,  and  said  to 
myself,  half  aloud:  "Oh!  what  a  joke,  what  a  joke!" 

Meanwhile  it  was  getting  very  cold.  I  noticed 
that  the  Jesuit  stayed  a  long  time,  and  thought: 
"They  are  having  an  explanation,  I  suppose." 

One,  two,  three  hours  passed,  and  still  the  rev- 
erend Father  did  not  come  out.  What  had  happened  ? 
Had  my  uncle  died  in  a  fit  when  he  saw  him,  or 
had  he  killed  the  cassocked  gentleman?  Perhaps  they 
had  mutually  devoured  each  other?  This  last  suppo- 
sition appeared  very  unlikely,  for  I  fancied  that  my 
uncle  was  quite  incapable  o^  swallowing  a  grain  more 
nourishment  at  that  moment. 

At  last  the  day  broke.  I  was  very  uneasy,  and, 
not  venturing  to  go  into  the  house  myself,  I  went 
to  one  of  my  friends  who  lived  opposite.  I  roused 
him,  explained  matters  to  him,  much  to  his  amuse- 
ment and  astonishment,  and  took  possession  of  his 
window. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  relieved  me  and  I  got  a  little 
sleep.  At  two  o'clock  I,  in  my  turn,  replaced  him. 
We  were  utterly  astonished. 

At  six  o'clock  the  Jesuit  left,  with  a  very  happy 
and  satisfied  look  on  his  face,  and  we  saw  him  go 
away  with  a  quiet  step. 

Then,  timid  and  ashamed,  I  went  and  knocked  at 
my  uncle's  door.     When  the   servant  opened  it  I  did 


220  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

not  dare  to  ask  her  any  questions,  but  went  upstairs 
without  saying  a  word. 

My  uncle  was  lying  pale,  exhausted,  with  weary, 
sorrowful  eyes  and  heavy  arms,  on  his  bed.  A  little 
religious  picture  was  fastened  to  one  of  the  bed- 
curtains  with  a  pin. 

"Why,  uncle,"  I  said,  "you  in  bed  still?  Are 
you  not  well?" 

He  replied  in  a  feeble  voice: 

"Oh!  my  dear  boy,  I  have  been  very  ill;  nearly 
dead." 

"How  was  that,  uncle?" 

"1  don't  know;  it  was  most  surprising.  But  what 
is  stranger  still  is,  that  the  Jesuit  priest  who  has  just 
left  —  you  know,  that  excellent  man  whom  I  have 
made  such  fun  of — had  a  divine  revelation  of  my 
state,  and  came  to  see  me." 

I  was  seized  with  an  almost  uncontrollable  desire 
to  laugh,  and  with  difficulty  said:     "Oh,  really!" 

"Yes,  he  came.     He  heard  a  Voice  telling  him  to 
get  up  and  come  to  me,  because  I  was  going  to  die 
It  was  a  revelation." 

I  pretended  to  sneeze,  so  as  not  to  burst  out 
laughing;  1  felt  inclined  to  roll  on  the  ground  with 
amusement. 

In  about  a  minute  I  managed  to  say,  indignantly; 
"And  you  received  him,  uncle,  you?  You,  a  Free- 
thinker, a  Freemason  ?  You  did  not  have  him  thrown 
out-of-doors  ?  " 

He  seemed  confused,  and  stammered: 

"Listen  a  moment,  it  is  so  astonishing  —  so  aston- 
ishing and  providential!  He  also  spoke  to  me  about 
my  father;  it  seems  he  knew  him  formerly." 


MY    UNCLE   SOSTHENES  221 

"Your  father,  uncle?  But  that  is  no  reason  for 
receiving  a  Jesuit." 

"I  know  that,  hut  I  was  very  ill,  and  he  looked 
after  me  most  devotedly  all  night  long.  He  was  per- 
fect; no  doubt  he  saved  my  life;  those  men  are  all 
more  or  less  doctors." 

"Oh!  he  looked  after  you  all  night?  But  you  said 
just  now  that  he  had  only  been  gone  a  very  short 
time." 

"That  is  quite  true;  I  kept  him  to  breakfast  after 
all  his  kindness.  He  had  it  at  a  table  by  my  bedside 
while  I  drank  a  cup  of  tea." 

"And  he  ate  meat.?" 

My  uncle  looked  vexed,  as  if  I  had  said  something 
very  much  out  of  place,  and  then  added: 

"Don't  joke,  Gaston;  such  things  are  out  of  place 
at  times.  He  has  shown  me  more  devotion  than 
many  a  relation  would  have  done  and  1  expect  to 
have  his  convictions  respected." 

This  rather  upset  me,  but  1  answered,  nevertheless: 
"Very  well,  uncle;  and  what  did  you  do  after  break- 
fast?" 

"We  played  a  game  of  bezique,  and  then  he  re- 
peated his  breviary  while  1  read  a  little  book  which 
he  happened  to  have  in  his  pocket,  and  which  was 
not  by  any  means  badly  written." 

"A  religious  book,  uncle?" 

"Yes,  and  no,  or  rather — no.  It  is  the  history  of 
their  missions  in  Central  Africa,  and  is  rather  a  book 
of  travels  and  adventures.  What  these  men  have 
done  is  very  grand." 

I  began  to  feel  that  matters  were  going  badly,  so 
1  got  up.     "Well,  good-bye,    uncle,"   I   said,    "I    see 


222  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

you  are  going  to  leave  Freemasonry  for  religion;  you 
are  a  renegade." 

He  was  still  rather  confused,  and  stammered: 
"Well,  but  religion  is  a  sort  of  Freemasonry." 
"When  is  your  Jesuit  coming  back?"  I  asked. 
"I  don't  —  I  don't  know  exactly;  to-morrow,  per- 
haps;  but  it  is  not  certain." 

I  went  out,  altogether  overwhelmed. 
My  joke  turned  out  very  badly  for  me!  My  uncle 
became  radically  converted,  and  if  that  had  been  all 
1  should  not  have  cared  so  much.  Clerical  or  Free- 
mason, to  me  it  is  all  the  same;  six  of  one  and  half- 
a-dozen  of  the  other;  but  the  worst  of  it  is  that  he 
has  just  made  his  will  —  yes,  made  his  will  —  and  has 
disinherited  me  in  favor  of  that  rascally  Jesuit! 


ALL    OVER 


HE  Comte   de    Lormerin   had  just 

finished    dressing    himself.      He 

cast  a  parting  glance  at  the  large 

1^     glass,  which  occupied  an  entire  panel 

^  of  his  dressing-room,  and  smiled. 

He  was    really    a    fine-looking    man 

still,  though    he  was  quite  gray.     Tall, 

slight,  elegant,  with  no  projecting  paunch, 

with    a  scanty  mustache  of  doubtful  shade 

his   thin    face   which    seemed  fair   rather 

JE:^  than  white,  he    had  presence,  that  "chic,"  in 

CX^  '    short,  that  indescribable  something  which  estab- 

.pv   lishes    between   two    men    more    difference   than 

^     millions  of  dollars. 

He  murmured:     "Lormerin  is  still  alive!" 
And    he    made    his    way    into    the    drawing-room, 
where  his  correspondence  awaited  him. 

On  his  table,  where  everything  had  its  place,  the 
work-table  of  the  gentleman  who  never  works,  there 
were  a  dozen  letteis  lying  beside  three  newspapers 
of  different  opinions.  With  a  single  touch  of  the 
finger   he   exposed   to   view   all    these   letters,  like   a 

(223) 


224  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

gambler  giving  the  choice  of  a  card;  and  he  scanned 
the  handwriting  —  a  thing  he  did  each  morning  be- 
fore tearing  open  the  envelopes. 

It  was  for  him  a  moment  of  delightful  expec- 
tancy, of  inquiry,  and  vague  anxiety.  What  did  these 
sealed  mysterious  papers  bring  him  ?  What  did 
they  contain  of  pleasure,  of  happiness,  or  of  grief? 
He  surveyed  them  with  a  rapid  sweep  of  the  eye, 
recognizing  in  each  case  the  hand  that  wrote  them, 
selecting  them,  making  two  or  three  lots,  according 
to  what  he  expected  from  them.  Here,  friends;  there, 
persons  to  whom  he  was  indifferent;  further  on, 
strangers.  The  last  kind  always  gave  him  a  little 
uneasiness.  What  did  they  want  from  him  ?  What 
hand  had  traced  those  curious  characters  full  of 
thoughts,  promises,  or  threats  ? 

This  day,  one  letter  in  particular  caught  his  eye. 
It  was  simple  nevertheless,  without  seeming  to  reveal 
anything;  but  he  regarded  it  with  disquietude,  with  a 
sort  of  internal  shiver. 

He  thought:  "From  whom  can  it  be?  I  cer- 
tainly know  this  writing,  and  yet  I  can't  identify  it." 

He  raised  it  to  a  level  with  his  face,  holding  it 
delicately  between  two  fingers,  striving  to  read 
through  the  envelope  without  making  up  his  mind  to 
open  it. 

Then  he  smelled  it,  and  snatched  up  from  the 
table  a  little  magnifying  glass  which  he  used  in 
studying  all  the  niceties  of  handwriting.  He  suddenly 
felt  unnerved.  "Whom  is  it  from?  This  hand  is 
familiar  to  me,  very  familiar.  I  must  have  often  read 
its  prosings,  yes,  very  often.  But  this  must  have 
been  a  long,  long  time   ago.     Who   the  deuce  can  it 


ALL  OVER  223 

be  from?    Pooh!  'tis  only   from  somebody  asking  for 
money." 

And  he  tore  open  the  letter.     Then  he  read: 

"My  Dear  Friend:  You  have,  without  doubt,  forgotten  me,  for 
it  is  now  twenty-five  years  since  we  saw  each  other.  1  was  young; 
I  am  old.  When  1  bade  you  farewell,  I  quitted  Paris  in  order  to  fol- 
low into  the  provinces  my  husband,  my  old  husband,  whom  you 
used  to  call  '  my  hospital. '  Do  you  remember  him  ?  He  died  five 
years  ago;  and  now  I  am  retuming  to  Paris  to  get  my  daughter 
married,  for  1  have  a  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen,  whom  you 
have  nevei  seen.  I  informed  you  about  her  entrance  into  the  world, 
but  you  certainly  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  so  trifling  an  event. 

"You,  you  are  always  the  handsome  Lormerin;  so  I  have  been 
told.  Well,  if  you  still  recollect  little  Lise,  whom  you  used  to  call 
'Lison,'come  and  dine  this  evening  with  her,  with  the  elderly  Baronne 
de  Vance,  your  ever  faithful  friend,  who,  with  some  emotion,  stretches 
out  to  you,  without  complaining  at  her  lot,  a  devoted  hand,  which 
you  must  clasp  but  no  longer  kiss,  my  poor  'Jaquelet.' 

"  Lise  de  Vance." 

Lormerin's  heart  began  to  throb.  He  remained 
sunk  in  his  armchair,  with  the  letter  on  his  knees, 
staring  straight  before  him,  overcome  by  poignant 
feelings  that  made  the  tears  mount  up  to  his  eyes! 

If  he  had  ever  loved  a  woman  in  his  life,  it  was 
this  one,  little  Lise,  Lise  de  Vance,  whom  he  called 
"Cinder-Flower"  on  account  of  the  strange  color  of 
her  hair,  and  the  pale  gray  of  her  eyes.  Oh!  what  a 
fine,  pretty,  charming  creature  she  was,  this  frail 
Baronne,  the  wife  of  that  old,  gouty,  pimply  Baron, 
who  had  abruptly  carried  her  off  to  the  provinces, 
shut  her  up,  kept  her  apart  through  jealousy,  through 
jealousy  of  the  handsome  Lormerin. 

Yes,  he  had  loved  her,  and  he  believed  that  he, 
too,  had    been    truly  loved.     She   gave    him  the  name 

5    G.  dcM n 


223  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

cf  Jaquelet,  and  used  to  pronounce  the  word  in  an 
exquisite  fashion. 

A  thousand  memories  that  had  been  effaced  came 
back  to  him,  far  off  and  sweet  and  melancholy  now. 
One  evening,  she  called  on  him  on  her  way  home 
from  a  ball,  and  they  went  out  for  a  stroll  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  she  in  evening  dress,  he  in  his  dressing- 
jacket.  !t  was  springtime;  the  weather  was  beautiful. 
The  odor  of  her  bodice  embalmed  the  warm  air, — 
the  odor  of  her  bodice,  and  also  a  little,  the  odor  of 
her  skin.  What  a  divine  night!  When  they  reached 
the  lake,  as  the  moon's  rays  fell  across  the  branches 
into  the  water,  she  began  to  weep.  A  little  surprised, 
he  asked  her  why. 

She  replied. 

"I  don't  know.  'Tis  the  moon  and  the  water 
that  have  affected  me.  Every  time  I  see  poetic 
thmgs  they  seize  hold  of  my  heart  and  I  have  to 
cry. " 

He  smiled,  moved  himself,  considering  her  feminine 
emotion  charming — the  emotion  of  a  poor  little 
woman  whom  every  sensation  overwhelms.  And  he 
embraced  her  passionately,  stammering: 

"My  little  Lise,  you  are  exquisite." 

What  a  charming  love  affair,  short-lived  and  dainty 
it  had  been,  and  all  over  too  so  quickly,  cut  short  in 
the  midst  of  its  ardor  by  this  old  brute  of  a  Baron, 
tvho  had  carried  off  his  wife,  and  never  shown  her 
afterward  to  anyone! 

Lormerin  had  forgotten,  in  good  sooth,  at  the  end 
of  two  or  three  months.  One  woman  drives  out  the 
other  so  quickly  in  Paris,  when  one  is  a  bachelor! 
No  matter!  he  had  kept  a  little  chapel  for  her  in  his 


ALL  OVER 


227 


heart,  for  he  had  loved  her  alone!     He   assured   him- 
self now  that  this  was  so. 

He  rose  up,  and  said  aloud:  "Certainly,  I  will  go 
and  dine  with  her  this  evening!" 

And  instinctively  he  turned  round  toward  the 
glass  in  order  to  inspect  himself  from  head  to  foot. 
He  reflected:  "She  must  have  grown  old  unpleas- 
antly, more  than  I  have!"  And  he  felt  gratified  at 
the  thought  of  showing  himself  to  her  still  hand- 
some, still  fresh,  of  astonishing  her,  perhaps  of  filling 
her  with  emotion,  and  making  her  regret  those  by- 
gone days  so  far,  far  distant  I 

He  turned  his  attention  to  the  other  letters.  They 
were  not  of  importance. 

The  whole  day,  he  kept  thinking  of  this  phantom. 
What  was  she  like  now?  How  :unny  it  was  to 
meet  in  this  way  after  twenty-five  years  I  Would  he 
alone  recognize  her? 

He  made  his  toilette  with  feminine  coquetry,  put  on 
a  white  waistcoat,  which  suited  him  better,  with  the 
coat,  sent  for  the  hairdresser  to  give  him  a  finishing 
touch  with  the  curling-iron,  for  he  had  preserved  his 
hair,  and  started  very  early  in  order  to  show  his 
eagerness  to  see  her. 

The  first  thing  he  saw  on  entering  a  pretty 
drawing-room,  freshly  furnished,  was  his  own  por- 
trait, an  old,  faded  photograph,  dating  from  the  days 
of  his  good-fortune,  hanging  on  the  wall  in  an  an- 
tique silk  frame. 

He  sat  down,  and  waited.  A  door  opened  behind 
him.  He  rose  up  abruptly,  and,  turning  round,  be- 
held an  old  woman  with  white  hair  who  extended 
both  hands  toward  him. 


228  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

He  seized  them,  kissed  them  one  after  the  other 
with  long,  long  kisses,  then,  lifting  up  his  head,  he 
gazed  at  the  woman  he  had  loved. 

Yes,  it  was  an  old  lady,  an  old  lady  whom  he  did 
not  recognize,  and  who,  while  she  smiled,  seemed 
ready  to   weep. 

He  could  not  abstain  from  murmuring: 

"It  is  you,  Use?" 

She   replied: 

"Yes,  it  is  1;  it  is  I,  indeed.  You  would  not 
have  known  me,  isn't  that  so?  I  have  had  so  much 
sorrow  —  so  much  sorrow.  Sorrow  has  consumed 
my  life.  Look  at  me  now  —  or  rather  don't  look  at 
me!  But  how  handsome  you  have  kept  —  and  young! 
If  I  had  by  chance  met  you  in  the  street,  I  would 
have  cried,  'Jaqueletl'  Now  sit  down  and  let  us, 
first  of  all,  have  a  chat.  And  then  I'll  show  you  my 
daughter,  my  grown-up  daughter.  You'll  see  how 
she  resembles  me  —  or  rather  how  I  resembled  her — 
no,  it  is  not  quite  that:  she  is  just  like  the  'me'  of 
former  days — you  shall  seel  But  I  wanted  to  be 
alone  with  you  first.  I  feared  that  there  would  be 
some  emotion  on  my  side,  at  the  first  moment. 
Now  it  is  all  over  —  it  is  past.  Pray  be  seated,  my 
friend." 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  holding  her  hand;  but  he 
did  not  know  what  to  say;  he  did  not  know  this 
woman  —  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  seen 
her  before.  What  had  he  come  to  do  in  this  house? 
Of  what  could  he  speak?  Of  the  long  ago?  What 
was  there  in  common  between  him  and  her?  He 
could  no  longer  recall  anything  to  mind  in  the  pres- 
once   of  this  grandmotherly  face.     He  could  no  longer 


ALL  OVER  229 

recall  to  mind  all  the  nice,  tender  things  so  sweet,  so 
bitter,  that  had  assailed  his  heart,  some  time  since, 
when  he  thought  of  the  other,  of  little  Lise,  of  the 
dainty  Cinder-Flower.  What  then  had  become  of 
her,  the  former  one,  the  one  he  had  loved  —  that 
woman  of  far-off  dreams,  the  blonde  with  gray  eyes, 
the  young  one  who  used  to  call  him  Jaquelet  so 
prettily? 

They  remained  side  by  side,  motionless,  both  con- 
strained, troubled,  profoundly  ill  at  ease. 

As  they  only  talked  in  commonplace  phrases, 
broken  and  slow,  she  rose  up  and  pressed  the  button 
of  the  bell. 

"I  am  going  to  call  Renee,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  then  the  rustle  of  a 
dress;   next,  a  young  voice  exclaimed: 

"Here  I  am,  mamma!" 

Lormerin  remained  scared,  as  if  at  the  sight  of  an 
apparition. 

He   stammered: 

"Good  day,  Mademoiselle." 

Then,  turning  toward  the  mother: 

"Oh!  it  is  you!" 

In  fact,  it  was  she,  she  whom  he  had  known  in 
bygone  days,  the  Lise  who  had  vanished  and  came 
back!  In  her  he  found  the  woman  he  had  won 
twenty-five  years  before.  This  one  was  even  younger 
still,  fresher,  more  childlike. 

He  felt  a  wild  desire  to  open  his  arms,  to  clasp 
her  to  his  heart  again,  murmuring  in  her  ear: 

"Good  day,  Lison!" 

A  man-servant  announced:  "Dinner  is  ready,  Ma- 
dame."    And  they  proceeded  toward  the  dining-room. 


230  WORKS    OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

What  passed  at  this  dinner?  What  did  they  say 
to  him,  and  what  could  he  say  in  reply?  He  found 
himself  plunged  in  one  of  those  strange  dreams  which 
border  on  insanity.  He  gazed  at  the  two  women 
with  a  fixed  idea  in  his  mind,  a  morbid,  self-contra- 
dictory idea:     "Which  is  the  real  one?" 

The  mother  smiled,  repeating  over  and  over  again: 
"Do  you  remember?"  And  it  was  in  the  bright 
eye  of  the  young  girl  that  he  found  again  his  memo- 
ries of  the  past.  Twenty  times,  he  opened  his  mouth 
to  say  to  her:  "Do  you  remember,  Lison? — "  for- 
getting this  white-haired  lady  who  was  regarding 
him  with  looks  of  tenderness. 

And  yet  there  were  moments  when  he  no  longer 
felt  sure,  when  he  lost  his  head.  He  could  see  that 
the  woman  of  to-day  was  not  exactly  the  woman  of 
long  ago.  The  other  one,  the  former  one,  had  in 
her  voice,  in  her  glance,  in  her  entire  being  some- 
thing which  he  did  not  find  again  in  the  mother. 
And  he  made  efforts  to  recall  his  ladylove,  to  seize 
again  what  had  escaped  from  her,  what  this  resusci- 
tated one  did  not  possess. 

The   Baronne   said: 

"You  have  lost  your  old  sprightliness,  my  poor 
friend." 

He  murmured:  "There  are  many  other  things  that 
I  have  lost!" 

But  in  his  heart,  touched  with  emotion,  he  felt  his 
old  love  springing  to  life  once  more  like  an  awakened 
wild  beast  ready  to  bite  him. 

The  young  girl  went  on  chattering,  and  every  now 
and  then  some  familiar  phrase  of  her  mother  which 
she   had   borrowed,  a   certain   style  of  speaking  and 


ALL  OVER  231 

thinking,  tliat  resemblance  of  mind  and  manner  wliicli 
people  acquire  by  livifig  togetlier,  sliool<:  Lormerin 
from  iiead  to  foot.  All  these  things  penetrated  him, 
making  the  reopened  wound  of  his  passion  bleed  anew. 

He  got  away  early,  and  took  a  turn  along  the  bou- 
levard. But  the  image  of  this  young  girl  pursued  him, 
haunted  him,  quickened  his  heart,  inflamed  his  blood. 
Instead  of  two  women,  he  now  saw  only  one,  a 
young  one,  the  one  of  former  days  returned,  and 
he  loved  her  as  he  had  loved  her  prototype  in  by- 
gone years.  He  loved  her  with  greater  ardor,  after 
an  interval  of  twenty-five  years. 

He  went  home  to  reflect  on  this  strange  and  ter- 
rible thing,  and  to  think  on  what  he  should  do. 

But  as  he  was  passing,  with  a  wax-candle  in  his 
hand  before  the  glass,  the  large  glass  in  which  he  had 
contemplated  himself  and  admired  himself  before  he 
started,  he  saw  reflected  there  an  elderly,  gray-haired 
man;  and  suddenly  he  recollected  what  he  had  been 
in  olden  days,  in  the  days  of  little  Lise.  He  saw  him- 
self charming  and  handsome,  as  he  had  been  when 
he  was  loved!  Then,  drawing  the  light  nearer,  he 
looked  at  himself  more  closely,  as  one  inspects  a 
strange  thing  with  a  magnifying  glass,  tracing  the 
wrinkles,  discovering  those  frightful  ravages  which  h-e 
had  not  perceived  till  now. 

And  he  sat  down,  crushed  at  the  sight  of  himself, 
at  the  sight  of  his  lamentable  image,  murmuring: 

"All  over,  Lormerin!" 


MY    LANDLADY 


T  THAT  time,"  said  George  Kervelen, 
"I  was  living  in  furnished  lodg- 
ings in  the  Rue  des  Saints-Peres. 
"When  my  father  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  I  should  go  to  Paris  to 
continue  my  law  studies,  there  had 
been  a  long  discussion  about  settling 
everything.  My  allowance  had  been  fixed 
It  first  at  two  thousand  five  hundred 
K  21.  B  francs,*  but  my  poor  mother  was  so  anxious, 
vi^.^-=^  that  she  said  to  my  father  that  if  I  spent  my 
money  badly  I  might  not  take  enough  to  eat, 
and  then  my  health  would  suffer,  and  so  it  was 
settled  that  a  comfortable  boarding-house  should 
be  found  for  me,  and  that  the  amount  should  be  paid 
to  the  proprietor  himself,  or  herself,  every  month. 

"Some  of  our  neighbors  told  us  of  a  certain  Mme. 
Kergaran,  a  native  of  Brittany,  who  took  in  boarders, 
and  so  my  father  arranged  matters  by  letter  with 
this  respectable  person,  at  whose  house  I  and  my 
luggage  arrived  one  evening. 


*  $500  a  year. 
(233) 


MY   LANDLADY 


253 


"Mme.  Kergaran  was  a  woman  of  about  forty. 
She  was  very  stout,  had  a  voice  like  a  drill-sergeant, 
and  decided  everything  in  a  very  abrupt  manner. 
Her  house  was  narrow,  with  only  one  window  open- 
ing on  to  the  street  on  each  story,  which  rather  gave 
it  the  appearance  of  a  ladder  of  windows,  or  better, 
perhaps,  of  a  slice  of  a  house  sandwiched  in  between 
two  others. 

"The  landlady  lived  on  the  first  floor  with  her 
servant,  the  kitchen  and  dining-room  were  on  the 
second,  and  four  boarders  from  Brittany  lived  on 
the  third  and  fourth,  and  I  had  two  rooms  on  the 
fifth. 

"A  little  dark  corkscrew  staircase  led  up  to  these 
attics.  All  day  long  Mme.  Kergaran  was  up  and 
down  these  stairs  like  a  captain  on  board  ship.  Ten 
times  a  day  she  would  go  into  each  room,  noisily 
superintending  everything,  seeing  that  the  beds  were 
properly  made,  the  clothes  well  brushed,  that  the  at- 
tendance was  all  that  it  should  be;  in  a  word,  she 
looked  after  her  boarders  like  a  mother,  and  better 
than  a  mother. 

"  1  soon  made  the  acquaintance  of  my  four  fellow- 
countrymen.  Two  were  medical  and  two  were  law 
students,  but  all  impartially  endured  the  landlady's 
despotic  yoke.  They  were  as  frightened  of  her  as  a 
boy  robbing  an  orchard  is  of  a  rural  policeman. 

"I,  however,  immediately  felt  that  I  wished  to  be 
independent;  it  is  my  nature  to  rebel.  I  declared  at 
once  that  I  meant  to  come  in  at  whatever  time  I 
liked,  for  Mme.  Kergaran  had  fixed  twelve  o'clock  at 
night  as  the  limit.  On  hearing  this  she  looked  ar  me 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said: 


234 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


*"It  is  quite  impossible;  I  cannot  have  Annette 
called  up  at  any  hour  of  the  night.  You  can  have 
nothing  to  do  out-of-doors  at  such  a  time.' 

"I  replied  firmly  that,  according  to  the  law,  she 
was  obliged  to  open  the  door  for  me  at  any  time. 

'"If  you  refuse,'  I  said,  'I  shall  get  a  policeman 
to  witness  the  fact,  and  go  and  get  a  bed  at  some 
hotel,  at  your  expense,  in  which  I  shall  be  fully  justi- 
fied. You  will,  therefore,  be  obliged  either  to  open 
the  door  for  me  or  to  get  rid  of  me.  Do  which  you 
please.' 

"I  laughed  in  her  face  as  I  told  her  my  conditions. 
She  could  not  speak  for  a  moment  for  surprise,  then 
she  tried  to  negotiate,  but  1  was  firm,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  yield.  It  was  agreed  that  I  should  have  a 
latchkey,  on  my  solemn  undertaking  that  no  one  else 
should  know  it. 

"My  energy  made  such  a  wholesome  impression 
on  her  that  from  that  time  she  treated  me  with 
marked  favor;  she  was  most  attentive,  and  even 
showed  me  a  sort  of  rough  tenderness  which  was  not 
at  all  unpleasing.  Sometimes  when  I  was  in  a  jovial 
mood  I  would  kiss  her  by  surprise,  if  only  for  the 
sake  of  getting  the  box  on  the  ears  which  she  gave 
me  immediately  afterward.  When  I  managed  to  duck 
my  head  quickly  enough,  her  hand  would  pass  over 
me  as  swiftly  as  a  ball,  and  I  would  run  away  laugh- 
ing, while  she  would  call  after  me: 

"'Oh!  you  wretch,  I  will  pay  you  out  for  that.* 

"  However,  we  soon  became  real  friends. 

"It  was  not  long  before  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  girl  who  was  employed  in  a  shop,  and  whom  I 
constantly  met.     You   know  what   such   sort  of  love 


MY   LANDLADY  2  35 

affairs  are  in  Paris.  One  fine  day,  going  to  a  lec- 
ture, you  meet  a  girl  going  to  work  arm-in-arm 
witli  a  friend.  You  look  at  her  and  feel  that  pleas- 
ant little  shock  which  the  eyes  of  some  women 
give  you.  The  next  day  at  the  same  time,  going 
through  the  same  street,  you  meet  her  again,  and 
the  next,  and  the  succeeding  days.  At  last  you  speak, 
and  the  love  affair  follows  its  course  just  like  an  ill- 
ness. 

"Well,  by  the  end  of  three  weeks  I  was  on  that 
footing  with  Emma  which  precedes  intimacy.  The 
fall  would  indeed  have  taken  place  much  sooner  had 
I  known  where  to  bring  it  about.  The  girl  lived 
at  home,  and  utterly  refused  to  go  to  a  hotel.  I 
did  not  know  how  to  manage,  but  at  last  I  made 
the  desperate  resolve  to  take  her  to  my  room  some 
night  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  under  the  pretense  of 
giving  her  a  cup  of  tea.  Mme.  Kergaran  always 
went  to  bed  at  ten,  so  that  we  could  get  in  by 
means  of  my  latchkey  without  exciting  any  atten- 
tion, and  go  down  again  in  an  hour  or  two  in  the 
same  way. 

"After  a  good  deal  of  entreaty  on  my  part,  Emma 
accepted  my  invitation. 

"  1  did  not  spend  a  very  pleasant  day,  for  I  was 
by  no  means  easy  in  my  mind.  1  was  afraid  of  com- 
plications, of  a  catastrophe,  of  some  scandal.  At 
night  1  went  into  a  cafi,  and  drank  two  cups  of 
coffee  and  three  or  four  glasses  of  cognac,  to  give 
me  courage,  and  when  I  heard  the  clock  strike  half 
past  ten,  1  went  slowly  to  the  place  of  meeting, 
where  she  was  already  waiting  for  me.  She  took 
my  arm  in  a  coaxing  manner,  and  we  set  off  slowly 


236  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

toward  my  lodgings.  The  nearer  we  got  to  the  door 
the  more  nervous  I  got,  and  I  thought  to  myself:  'If 
only  Mme.  Kergaran   is   in  bed  already.' 

"I  said  to  Emma  two  or  three  times: 

"'Above  all  things,  don't  make  any  noise  on  the 
stairs,'  to  which  she  replied,  laughing: 

"'Are  you  afraid  of  being  heard?' 

"'No,*  f  said,  'but  I  am  afraid  of  waking  the 
man  who  sleeps  in  the  room  next  to  me,  who  is  not 
at  all  well.' 

"When  I  got  near  the  house  I  felt  as  frightened 
as  a  man  does  who  is  going  to  the  dentist's.  All  the 
windows  were  dark,  so  no  doubt  everybody  was 
asleep,  and  I  breathed  again.  I  opened  the  door  as 
carefully  as  a  thief,  let  my  fair  companion  In,  shut  it 
behind  me,  and  went  upstairs  on  tiptoe,  holding  my 
breath,  and  striking  wax-matches  lest  the  girl  should 
make  a  false  step. 

"As  we  passed  the  landlady's  door  I  felt  my 
heart  beating  very  quickly.  But  we  reached  the  sec- 
ond floor,  then  the  third,  and  at  last  the  fifth,  and  got 
into  my  room.     Victory! 

"However,  I  only  dared  to  speak  in  a  whisper, 
and  took  off  my  boots  so  as  not  to  make  any  noise. 
The  tea,  which  I  made  over  a  spirit-lamp,  was  soon 
drunk,  and  then  I  became  pressing,  till  little  by  little, 
as  if  in  play,  I,  one  by  one,  took  off  my  companion'3 
garments.  She  yielded  while  resisting,  blushing,  con- 
fused. 

"She  had  absolutely  nothing  on  except  a  short 
white  petticoat  when  my  door  suddenly  opened,  and 
Mme.  Kergaran  appeared  with  a  candle  in  her  hand, 
in  exactly  the  same  costume  as  Emma. 


MY   LANDLADY  237 

"I  jumped  away  from  her  and  remained  standing 
up,  looking  at  tlie  two  women,  who  were  looking  at 
each  other.     What  was  going  to  happen  ? 

"My  landlady  said,  in  a  lofty  tone  of  voice  which 
I  had  never  heard  from  her  before: 

"'Monsieur  Kervelen,  1  will  not  have  prostitutes 
in  my  house.' 

"'But,  Madame  Kergaran/  I  stammered,  'the 
3'oung  lady  is  a  friend  of  mine.  She  just  came  in  to 
have  a  cup  of  tea.' 

" '  People  don't  take  tea  in  their  chemises.  You 
will  please  make  this  person  go  directly.' 

"Emma,  in  a  natural  state  of  consternation,  began 
to  cry,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  petticoat,  and  1  lost 
my  head,  not  knowing  what  to  do  or  say.  My  land- 
lady added,  with  irresistible  authority: 

"'Help  her  to  dress,  and  take  her  out  at  once.' 

"It  was  certainly  the  only  thing  1  could  do,  so  I 
picked  up  her  dress  from  the  floor,  put  it  over  her 
head,  and  began  to  fasten  it  as  best  I  could.  She 
helped  me,  crying  all  the  time,  hurrying  and  making 
all  sorts  of  mistakes  and  unable  to  find  either  button 
holes  or  laces,  while  Mme.  Kergaran  stood  by  mo- 
tionless, with  the  candle  in  her  hand,  looking  at  us 
with  the  severity  of  a  judge. 

"As  soon  as  Emma  was  dressed,  without  even 
stopping  to  button  her  boots,  she  rushed  past  the 
landlady  and  ran  downstairs.  I  followed  her  in  my 
slippers  and  half  undressed,  and  kept  repeating: 
'Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle!' 

"1  felt  that  1  ought  to  say  something  to  her,  but 
I  could  not  find  anything.  I  overtook  her  just  by  the 
street-door,  and   tried   to  take   her   into  my  arms,  but 


238  WORKS  OF  GUY  DH  MAUPASSANT 

she  pushed  me  violently  away,  saying  in  a  low, 
nervous  voice: 

"  'Leave  me  alone,  leave  me  alone!'  and  so  ran 
out  into  the  street,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

"  When  1  went  upstairs  again  1  found  that  Mme. 
Kergaran  v^^as  waiting  on  the  first  landing.  1  went 
up  slowly,  expecting,   and  ready  for,  anything. 

"Her  door  was  open,  and  she  called  me  in,  say- 
ing in  a  severe  voice: 

"  '1  want  to  speak  to  you,   M.   Kervelen.' 

"  I  went  in,  with  my  head  bent.  She  put  her 
candle  on  the  mantlepiece,  and  then,  folding  her  arms 
over  her  expansive  bosom,  which  a  fine  white  dressing- 
jacket  hardly  covered,  she  said: 

"'So,  Monsieur  Kervelen,  you  think  my  house  is 
a  house  of  ill-fame?' 

"1  was  not  at  all  proud.     1  murmured: 

"'Oh  dear,  no!  But,  Mme.  Kergaran,  you  must 
not  be  angry;  you  know  what  young  men  are.' 

"'I  know,'  was  her  answer,  'that  I  will  not  have 
such  creatures  here,  so  you  will  understand  that.  I 
expect  to  have  my  house  respected,  and  I  will  not 
have  it  lose  its  reputation,  you  understand  me  ?  I 
know  — ' 

"  She  went  on  thus  for  at  least  twenty  minutes, 
overwhelming  me  with  the  good  name  of  her  house, 
with  reasons  for  her  indignation,  and  loading  me  with 
severe  reproofs.  I  went  to  bed  crestfallen,  and  re- 
solved never  again  to  try  such  an  experiment,  so  long, 
at  least,  as  I  continued  to  be  a  lodger  of  Mme.  Ker- 
garan." 


THE    HORRIBLE 


HE  shadows   of  a   balmy   night  were 
slowly  falling.    The  women  remained 
in   the   drawing-room    of    the    villa. 
The  men,  seated  or  astride  on  garden- 
chairs,  were   smoking   in  front   of  the 
door,  forming    a   circle    round    a    table 
laden  with  cups  and  wineglasses. 
Their  cigars  shone  like  eyes  in  the  dark- 
'■  ness  which,  minute  by  minute,  was  grow- 
ing  thicker.     They  had   been  talking  about 
a  frightful    accident  which   had   occurred   the 
"/  night    before  —  two    men    and    three    wom.en 
drowned   before  the  eyes   of  the   guests   in  the 
river  opposite. 

General  de  G remarked: 

"Yes,  these  things  are  affecting,  but  they  are  not 
horrible. 

"The  horrible,  that  well-known  word,  me  ins 
much  more  than  the  terrible.  A  frightful  accidrnt 
like  this  moves,  upsets,  scares;  it  does  not  hoi  ify. 
In  order  that  we  should  experience  horror,  sometning 
more  is  needed  than  the  mere  excitation  of  the  soul, 
/  (239) 


240 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


something  more  than  the  spectacle  of  the  dreadful 
death;  there  must  be  a  shuddering  sense  of  mystery 
or  a  sensation  of  abnormal  terror  beyond  the  limits 
of  nature.  A  man  who  dies,  even  in  the  most  dra- 
matic conditions,  does  not  excite  horror;  a  field  of 
battle  is  not  horrible;  blood  is  not  horrible;  the  vilest 
crimes  are  rarely  horrible. 

"Now,  here  are  two  personal  examples,  which 
have  shown  me  what  is  the  meaning  of  horror: 

"It  was  during  the  war  of  1870.  We  were  re- 
treating toward  Pont-Audemer,  after  having  passed 
through  Rouen.  The  army,  consisting  of  about 
twenty  thousand  men,  twenty  thousand  men  in  dis- 
order, disbanded,  demoralized,  exhausted,  was  going 
to  reform  at  Havre. 

"The  earth  was  covered  with  snow.  The  night 
was  falling.  They  had  not  eaten  anything  since  the 
day  before,  and  were  flying  rapidly,  the  Prussians 
not  far  off.  The  Norman  country,  livid,  dotted  with 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  surrounding  the  farms, 
stretched  away  under  a  heavy  and  sinister  black  sky. 

"Nothing  else  could  be  heard  in  the  wan  twilight 
save  the  confused  sound,  soft  and  undefined,  of  a 
marching  throng,  an  endless  tramping,  mingled  with 
the  vague  clink  of  canteens  or  sabers.  The  men,  bent, 
round-shouldered,  dirty,  in  many  cases  even  in  rags, 
dragged  themselves  along,  hurrying  through  the  snow, 
with  a  long  broken-backed  stride. 

"The  skin  of  their  hands  stuck  to  the  steel  of  their 
muskets'  butt-ends,  for  it  was  freezing  dreadfully  that 
night.  I  frequently  saw  a  little  soldier  take  off  his 
shoes  in  order  to  walk  barefooted,  so  much  did  his 
footgear  bruise   him;    and   with   every   step    he   left  a 


THE    HORRIBLE 


241 


track  of  blood.  Then,  after  some  time,  he  sat  down 
in  a  field  for  a  few  minutes'  rest,  and  never  got  up 
again.     Every  man  who  sat  down  died. 

"Should  we  have  left  behind  us  those  poor  ex- 
hausted soldiers,  who  fondly  counted  on  being  able 
to  start  afresh  as  soon  as  they  had  somewhat  refreshed 
their  stiffened  legs  ?  Now,  scarcely  had  they  ceased 
to  move,  and  to  make  their  almost  frozen  blood  cir- 
culate in  their  veins,  than  an  unconquerable  torpor 
congealed  them,  nailed  them  to  the  ground,  closed 
their  eyes,  and  in  one  second  the  overworked  human 
mechanism  collapsed.  They  gradually  sank  down, 
their  heads  falling  toward  their  knees  —  without,  how- 
ever, quite  tumbling  over,  for  their  loins  and  their 
limbs  lost  the  capacity  for  moving,  and  became  as 
hard  as  wood,  impossible  to  bend  or  straighten. 

"The  rest  of  us,  more  robust,  kept  still  straggling 
on,  chilled  to  the  marrow  of  our  bones,  advancing 
by  dint  of  forced  movement  through  the  night, 
through  that  snow,  through  that  cold  and  deadly 
country,  crushed  by  pain,  by  defeat,  by  despair, 
above  all  overcome  by  the  abominable  sensation  of 
abandonment,  of  death,  of  nothingness. 

"I  saw  two  gendarmes  holding  by  the  arm  a 
curious-looking  little  man,  old,  beardless,  of  truly 
surprising  aspect. 

"They  were  looking  out  for  an  officer,  believing 
that  they  had  caught  a  spy.  The  word  'Spy'  at 
once  spread  through  the  midst  of  the  stragglers,  and 
they  gathered  in  a  group  round  the  prisoner.  A 
voice  exclaimed:  'He  must  be  shot!'  And  all  these 
soldiers  who  were  falling  from  utter  prostration,  only 
holding   themselves   on  their   feet  by  leaning  on  their 

5    G.  de  M.— 16 


242  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

guns,  felt  of  a  sudden  that  thrill  of  furious  and  bestial 
anger  which  urges  on  a  mob  to  massacre. 

"1  wanted  to  speal<;!  1  was  at  that  time  in  com- 
mand of  a  battalion;  but  they  no  longer  recognized 
the  authority  of  their  commanding  officers;  they 
would  have  shot  me. 

"One  of  the  gendarmes  said:  'He  has  been  fol- 
lowing us  for  the  last  three  days.  He  has  been  asking 
information  from  everyone  about  the  artillery.' 

"I  took  it  on  myself  to  question  this  person: 

"'What  are  you  doing?  What  do  you  want? 
Why  are  you  accompanying  the  army?' 

"He  stammered  out  some  words  in  some  unin- 
telligible dialect.  He  was,  indeed,  a  strange  being, 
with  narrow  shoulders,  a  sly  look,  and  such  an  agi- 
tated air  in  my  presence  that  1  had  no  longer  any 
real  doubt  that  he  was  a  spy.  He  seemed  very  aged 
and  feeble.  He  kept  staring  at  me  from  under  his 
eyes  with  a  humble,  stupid,  and  crafty  air. 

"The  men  all  round  us  exclaimed: 
'To  the  wall!  to  the  wall!' 

"I  said  to  the  gendarmes: 

"  'Do  you  answer  for  the  prisoner?' 

"1  had  not  ceased  speaking  when  a  terrible  push 
threw  me  on  my  back,  and  in  a  second  1  saw  the 
man  seized  by  the  furious  soldiers,  thrown  down, 
struck,  dragged  along  the  side  of  the  road,  and  flung 
against  a  tree.  He  fell  in  the  snow,  nearly  dead  al- 
ready. 

"And  immediately  they  shot  him.  The  soldiers 
fired  at  him,  reloaded  their  guns,  fired  again  with  the 
desperate  energy  of  brutes.  They  fought  with  each 
other  to  have  a  shot  at  him,  filed  off  in  front  of  the 


THE  HORRIBLE  243 

corpse,  and  kept  firing  at  him,  just  as  people  at  a 
funeral  keep  sprinkling  holy  water  in  front  of  a 
coffin. 

"But  suddenly  a  cry  arose  of  'The  Prussians!  the 
Prussians!'  and  all  along  the  horizon  I  heard  the 
great  noise  of  this  panic-stricken  army  in  full  flight. 

"The  panic,  generated  by  these  shots  fired  at  this 
vagabond,  had  filled  his  very  executioners  with  ter- 
ror; and,  without  realizing  that  they  were  themselves 
the  originators  of  the  scare,  they  rushed  away  and 
disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"I  remained  alone  in  front  of  the  corpse  with  the 
two  gendarmes  whom  duty  had  compelled  to  stay 
with  me. 

"They  lifted  up  this  riddled  piece  of  flesh,  bruised 

and  bleeding. 

"'He  must  be  examined,'  said  I  to  them. 

"And  I  handed  them  a  box  of  vestas  which  I  had 
in  my  pocket.  One  of  the  soldiers  had  another  box. 
I  was  standing  between  the  two. 

"The  gendarme,  who  was  feeling  the  body,  called 

out: 

"'Clothed  in  a  blue  blouse,  trousers,  and  a  pair  of 

sboes.' 

"The  first  match  went  out;  we  lighted  a  second. 
The  man  went  on,  as  he  turned  out  the  pockets: 

"'A  horn  knife,  check  handkerchief,  a  snuffbox, 
a  bit  of  packthread,  a  piece  of  bread.' 

"The  second  match  went  out;  we  lighted  a  third. 
The  gendarme,  after  having  handled  the  corpse  for  a 
long  time,  said: 

"'That  is  all.' 

"I  said: 


244 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


"'Strip  him.  We  shall  perhaps  find  something 
near  the  skin.' 

"And,  in  order  that  the  two  soldiers  might  help 
each  other  in  this  task,  I  stood  between  them  to  give 
them  light.  I  saw  them,  by  the  rapid  and  speedily 
extinguished  flash  of  the  match,  take  off  the  gar- 
ments one  by  one,  and  expose  to  view  that  bleeding 
bundle  of  flesh  still  warm,  though  lifeless. 

"And  suddenly  one  of  them  exclaimed: 

'"Good  God,  Colonel,  it  is  a  woman!' 

"I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  strange  and  poigH" 
ant  sensation  of  pain  that  moved  my  heart.  I  could 
not  believe  it,  and  1  kneeled  down  in  the  snow  be- 
fore this  shapeless  pulp  of  flesh  to  see  for  myself:  it 
was  a  woman„ 

"The  two  gendarmes,  speechless  and  stunned, 
waited  for  me  to  give  my  opinion  on  the  matter. 
But  I  did  not  know  what  to  think,  what  theory  to 
adopt. 

"Then  the  brigadier  slowly  drawled  out: 

"  '  Perhaps  she  came  to  look  for  a  son  of  hers  in 
the  artillery,  whom  she  had  not  heard   from.' 

"And  the  other  chimed  in: 

"'Perhaps  indeed  that  is  so.' 

"And  1,  who  had  seen  some  terrible  things  in 
my  time,  began  to  weep.  I  felt,  in  the  presence  of 
this  corpse,  in  that  icy  cold  night,  the  midst  of  that 
gloomy  plain,  at  the  sight  of  this  mystery,  at  the 
sight  of  this  murdered  stranger,  the  meaning  of  that 
word  'horror.' 

"Now,  1  had  the  same  sensation  last  year  while 
interrogating  one  of  the  survivors  Oi  the  Flatters  Mis- 
sion, an  Algerian  sharpshooter. 


THE   HORRIBLE  245 

"You  probably  know  some  of  the  details  of  this 
atrocious  drama.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  you 
are  unacquainted  with  all. 

"The  Colonel  traveled  through  the  desert  into  the 
Soudan,  and  passed  through  the  immense  territory  of 
the  Touaregs,  who  are,  in  that  great  ocean  of  sand 
which  stretches  from  the  Atlantic  to  Egypt  and  from 
the  Soudan  to  Algeria,  a  sort  of  pirates  resembhng 
those  who  ravaged  the  seas  in  former  days. 

"The  guides  who  accompanied  the  column  be- 
longed to  the  tribe  of  Chambaa,  of  Ouargla. 

"One  day,  they  pitched  their  camp  in  the  middle 
of  the  desert,  and  the  Arabs  declared  that,  as  the 
spring  was  a  little  farther  away,  they  would  go  with 
all  their  camels  to  look  for  water. 

"Only  one  man  warned  the  Colonel  that  he  had 
been  betrayed.  Flatters  did  not  believe  this,  and  ac- 
companied the  convoy  with  the  engineers,  the  doc- 
tors, and  nearly  all  his  officers. 

"They  were  massacred  round  the  spring  and  all 
the  camels  captured. 

"The  Captain  of  the  Arab  Intelligence  Department 
at  Ouargla,  who  had  remained  in  the  camp,  took 
command  of  the  survivors,  spahis  and  sharpshooters, 
and  commenced  the  retreat,  leaving  behind  the  bag- 
gage and  the  provisions  for  want  of  camels  to  carry 
them. 

"Then  they  started  on  their  journey  through  this 
solitude  without  shade  and  without  limit,  under  a  de- 
vouring sun,  which  parched  them  from  morning  till 
night. 

"One  tribe  came  to  tender  its  submission  and 
brought    dates    as    a    tribute.     They    were    poisoned. 


246  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Nearly  all  the  French  died,  and  among  them,  the  last 
officer. 

"There  now  only  remained  a  few  spahis,  with 
their  quartermaster,  Pobeguin,  and  some  native  sharp- 
shooters of  the  Chambaa  tribe.  They  had  still  two 
camels  left.  These  disappeared  one  night  along  with 
two  Arabs. 

"Then  the  survivors  feared  that  they  would  have 
to  eat  each  other  up.  As  soon  as  they  discovered 
the  flight  of  the  two  men  with  the  two  beasts,  those 
who  remained  separated,  and  proceeded  to  march,  one 
by  one,  through  the  soft  sand,  under  the  glare  of  a 
scorching  sun,  at  a  distance  of  more  than  a  gunshot 
from  each  other. 

"So  they  went  on  all  day,  and,  when  they  reached 
a  spring,  each  of  them  came  up  to  drink  at  it  in 
turn  as  soon  as  each  solitary  marcher  had  moved 
forward  the  number  of  yards  arranged  upon.  And 
thus  they  continued  marching  the  whole  day,  rais- 
ing, everywhere  they  passed  in  that  level  burned-up 
expanse,  those  little  columns  of  dust  which,  at  a  dis- 
tance, indicate  those  who  are  trudging  through  the 
desert. 

"But,  one  morning,  one  of  the  travelers  made  a 
sudden  turn,  and  drew  nearer  to  his  neighbor.  And 
they  all  stopped  to  look. 

"The  man  toward  whom  the  famished  soldier 
drew  near  did  not  fly,  but  lay  flat  on  the  ground,  and 
took  aim  at  the  one  who  was  coming  on.  When  he 
believed  he  was  within  gunshot,  he  fired.  The  other 
was  not  hit,  and  continued  to  advance,  and  cocking 
his  gun  in  turn,  killed  his  comrade. 

"Then  from  the  entire  horizon,  the  others  rushed 


THE   HORRIBLE  247 

to  seek  their  share.     And  he  who  had  killed  the  fallen 
man,  cutting  the  corpse  into  pieces,  distributed  it. 

"Then  they  once  more  placed  themselves  at  fixed 
distances,  these  irreconcilable  allies,  preparing  for  the 
next  murder  which  would  bring  them  together. 

"For  two  days  they  lived  on  this  human  flesh, 
whicn  they  divided  among  each  other.  Then,  the 
famine  came  back,  and  he  who  had  killed  the  first 
man  began  KhVng  afresh.  And  again,  like  a  butcher, 
he  cut  up  the  corpse  and  offered  it  to  his  comrades, 
keeping  only  his  own  portion  of  it.  This  retreat  of 
cannibals  continued.  The  last  Frenchman,  Pobeguin, 
was  massacred  at  the  side  of  a  well  the  very  night 
before  the  supplies  arrived. 

"Do  you  understand  now  what  I  mean  by  the 
'horrible?'" 

This  was  the  story  told  us  a  few  nights  ago  by 
General  de  G . 


THE    FIRST    SNOWFALL 


•HE  long  promenade  of  La  Croisette 
runs  in  a  curve  up  to  the  edge 
of  the  blue  water.  Over  there, 
at  the  right,  the  Esterel  advances 
far  into  the  sea.  It  obstructs  the 
view,  shutting  in  the  horizon  with 
the  pretty  southern  aspect  of  its 
peaked,  numerous,  and  fantastic  sum- 
mits. 
At  the  left,  the  isles  of  Sainte-Mar- 
guerite  and  Saint-Honorat,  lying  in  the 
water,  present  long  aisles  of  fir-trees. 
And  all  along  the  great  gulf,  all  along  the 
tall  mountains  that  encircle  Cannes,  the  white 
villa  residences  seem  to  be  sleeping  in  the  sunlight. 
You  can  see  them  from  a  distance,  the  bright  houses, 
scattered  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  moun>. 
tains,  dotting  the  dark  greenery  with  specks  of  snow. 
Those  near  the  water  open  their  gates  on  the  vast 
promenade  which  is  lashed  by  the  quiet  waves.  The 
air  is  soft  and  balmy.  It  is  one  of  those  days  when 
in  this  southern  climate  the  chill  of  winter  is  not  felt. 
Above  the  walls  of  the  gardens  may  be  seen  orange- 
(248) 


THE   FIRST   SNOWFALL 


249 


trees  and  citron-trees  full  of  golden  fruit.  Ladies  ad- 
vance with  slow  steps  over  the  sand  of  the  avenue, 
followed  by  children  rolling  hoops  or  chatting  with 
gentlemen. 

•v  "T*  T»  •!•  •?■  "n  "K 

A  young  lady  had  just  passed  out  through  the 
door  of  her  coquettish  little  house  facing  La  Croisette. 
She  stops  for  a  moment  to  gaze  at  the  promenaders, 
smiles,  and,  with  the  gait  of  one  utterly  enfeebled, 
makes  her  way  toward  an  empty  bench  right  in  front 
of  the  sea.  Fatigued  after  having  gone  twenty  paces, 
she  sits  down  out  of  breath.  Her  pale  face  seems 
that  of  a  dead  woman.  She  coughs,  and  raises  to 
her  lips  her  transparent  fingers  as  if  to  stop  those 
shakings  that  exhaust  her. 

She  gazes  at  the  sky  full  of  sunshine  and  at  the 
swallows,  at  the  zigzag  summits  of  the  Esterel  over 
there,  and  at  the  sea,  quite  close  to  her,  so  blue,  so 
calm,  so  beautiful. 

She  smiles  still,  and  murmurs: 

"Ohl  how  happy  I  am!" 

She  knows,  however,  that  she  is  going  to  die, 
that  she  will  never  see  the  springtime,  that  in  a  year, 
along  the  same  promenade,  these  same  people  who 
pass  before  her  now  will  come  again  to  breathe  the 
warm  air  of  this  charming  spot,  with  their  children  a 
little  bigger,  with  their  hearts  all  filled  with  hopes, 
with  tenderness,  with  happiness,  while  at  the  bottom 
of  an  oak  coffin  the  poor  flesh  which  is  left  to  her 
still  to-day  will  have  fallen  into  a  condition  of  rotten- 
ness, leaving  only  her  bones  lying  in  the  silk  robe 
which  she  has  selected  for  a  winding-sheet. 

She  will  be   no   more.     Everything   in  life  will  go 


250 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


on  as  before  for  others.     For  her  life  will  be   over  — 
over  forever.     She  will  be  no  more.     She  smiles,  and 
inhales  as  well   as  she  can,  with   her  diseased   lungs, 
the  perfumed  air  of  the  gardens. 
And  she  sinks  into  a  reverie. 

:it:  4:  *  *  *  *  * 

She  recalls  the  past.  She  had  been  married,  four 
years  ago,  to  a  Norman  gentleman.  He  was  a  strong 
young  man,  bearded,  healthy  looking,  with  wide 
shoulders,  narrow  mind,  and  joyous  disposition. 

They  had  been  united  through  worldly  motives 
which  she  did  not  quite  understand.  She  would 
willingly  have  said  "Yes."  She  did  say  "Yes,"  with 
a  movement  of  the  head  in  order  not  to  thwart  her 
father  and  mother.  She  was  a  Parisian,  gay  and  full 
of  the  joy  of  Hving. 

Her  husband  brought  her  home  to  his  Norman 
chateau.  It  was  a  huge  stone  building  surrounded  by 
tall  trees  of  great  age.  A  high  clump  of  fir-trees  shut 
out  the  view  in  front.  On  the  right  an  opening  in 
the  trees  presented  a  view  of  the  plain  which  stretched 
out,  quite  flat,  up  to  the  distant  farmsteads.  A  cross- 
road passed  before  the  boundary-line  leading  to  the 
highroad  three  kilometers  away. 

Oh!  she  could  remember  everything  —  her  arrival, 
her  first  day  in  her  new  abode,  and  her  isolated  fate 
afterward. 

When  she  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  she  glanced 
at  the  old  building  and  laughingly  exclaimed: 

"It  does  not  look  gay!" 

Her  husband  began  to  laugh  in  his  turn  and  replied: 

"Pooh!  we  get  used  to  it!  You'll  see.  I  never 
feel  bored  in  it,  for  my  part." 


THE   FIRST  SNOWFALL  25I 

That  day  they  passed  their  time  in  embracing 
each  other,  and  she  did  not  find  it  too  long.  This 
lasted  for  the  best  part  of  three  months.  The  days 
passed  one  after  the  other  in  insignificant  yet  absorbing 
occupations.  She  learned  the  value  and  the  impor- 
tance of  the  little  things  of  life.  She  knew  that  peo- 
ple can  interest  themselves  in  the  price  of  eggs  which 
cost  a  few  centimes  more  or  less  according  to  the 
seasons. 

It  was  summer.  She  went  to  the  fields  to  see  the 
harvest  cut.  The  gaiety  of  the  sunshine  kept  up  the 
gaiety  of  her  heart. 

The  autumn  came.  Her  husband  went  hunting. 
He  started  in  the  morning  with  his  two  dogs,  Medor 
and  Mirza.  Then  she  remained  alone,  without  grieving 
herself,  moreover,  at  Henry's  absence.  She  was,  how- 
ever, very  fond  of  him,  but  he  was  not  missed  by 
her.  When  he  returned  home,  her  affection  was 
specially  absorbed  by  the  dogs.  She  took  care  of 
them  every  evening  with  a  mother's  affection,  caressed 
them  incessantly,  gave  them  a  thousand  charming 
little  names  which  she  had  no  idea  of  applying  to 
her  husband. 

He  invariably  told  her  all  about  his  hunting.  He 
pointed  out  the  places  where  he  found  partridges, 
expressed  his  astonishm.ent  at  not  having  caught  any 
hares  in  Joseph  Ledentu's  clover,  or  else  appeared 
indignant  at  the  conduct  of  M.  Lechapelier,  of  Havre, 
who  always  followed  the  border  of  his  estates  to 
shoot  game  that  had  been  started  by  him,  Henry  de 
Parville. 

She  replied:  "Yes,  indeed;  it  is  not  right,"  think- 
ing of  something  else  ali  the  while. 


252  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

The  winter  came,  the  Norman  winter,  cold  and 
rainy.  The  endless  rain-storms  came  down  on  the  slates 
of  the  great  many-angled  roof,  rising  like  a  blade  toward 
the  sky.  The  road  seemed  like  streams  of  mud,  the 
country  a  plain  of  mud,  and  no  noise  could  be  heard 
save  that  of  water  falling;  no  movement  could  be 
seen  save  the  whirling  flight  of  crows  rolling  them- 
selves out  like  a  cloud,  alighting  on  a  field,  and  then 
hurrying   away  again. 

About  four  o'clock,  the  army  of  dark,  flying  crea- 
tures came  and  perched  in  the  tall  beeches  at  the  left 
of  the  chateau, emitting  deafening  cries.  During  nearly 
an  hour,  they  fluttered  from  tree-top  to  tree-top, 
seemed  to  be  fighting,  croaked,  and  made  the  gray 
branches  move  with  their  black  wings.  She  gazed 
at  them,  each  evening,  with  a  pressure  of  the  heart, 
so  deeply  was  she  penetrated  by  the  lugubrious 
melancholy  of  the  night  falling  on  the  desolate 
grounds. 

Then  she  rang  for  the  lamp,  and  she  drew  near 
the  fire.  She  burned  heaps  of  wood  without  succeed- 
ing in  warming  the  spacious  apartments  invaded  by 
the  humidity.  She  felt  cold  every  day,  everywhere, 
in  the  drawing-room,  at  meals  in  her  own  apartment. 
It  seemed  to  her  she  was  cold  even  in  the  marrow 
of  her  bones.  He  only  came  in  to  dinner,  he  was 
always  hunting,  or  else  occupied  with  sowing  seed, 
tilling  the  soil,  and  all  the  work  of  the  country. 

He  used  to  come  back  jolly  and  covered  with  mud, 
rubbing  his  hands  while  he  exclaimed: 

"What  wretched  weather!"  Or  else:  "It  is  a 
good  thing  to  have  a  fire."  Or  sometimes:  "Well, 
how  are  you  to-day?     Do  you  feel  in  good  spirits?" 


THE   FIRST  SNOWFALL  2S3 

He  was  happy,  in  good  health,  without  desires, 
thinking  of  nothing  else  save  this  simple,  sound,  and 
quiet   life. 

About  December,  when  the  snow  had  come,  she 
suflFered  so  much  from  the  icy-cold  air  of  the  chateau 
which  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  chill  with  the  cen- 
turies it  had  passed  through,  as  human  beings  do 
with  years,  that  she  asked  her  husband  one  even- 
ing: 

"Look  here,  Henry!  You  ought  to  have  a  hot- 
air  plant  put  into  the  house;  it  would  dry  the  walls. 
I  assure  you  I  cannot  warm  myself  from  morning  till 
night." 

At  first  he  was  stunned  at  this  extravagant  idea  of 
introducing  a  hot-air  plant  into  his  manor-house.  It 
would  have  seemed  more  natural  to  him  to  have  his 
dogs  fed  out  of  his  silver  plate.  Then,  he  gave  a 
tremendous  laugh  which  made  his  chest  heave,  while 
he  exclaimed: 

"A  hot-air  plant  here!  A  hot-air  plant  here!  Ha! 
ha!  ha!  what  a  good  joke!" 

She   persisted: 

"I  assure  you,  dear,  I  feel  frozen;  you  don't  feel 
it  because  you  are  always  moving  about;  but,  all  the 
same,  I  feel  frozen." 

He  replied,  still  laughing: 

"Pooh!  you  will  get  used  to  it,  and  besides  it  is 
excellent  for  the  health.  You  will  only  be  all  the  better 
for  it.  We  are  not  Parisians,  damn  it!  to  live  in  hot- 
houses.    And  besides  the  spring  is  quite  near." 

About  the  beginning  of  January,  a  great  misfortune 
befell    her.     Her    father    and    her    mother   died    of   a 


254  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

carriage-accident.  She  came  to  Paris  for  the  funeral. 
And  her  mind  was  entirely  plunged  in  grief  on  ac- 
count of  it  for  about  six  months. 

The  softness  of  fine  days  at  length  awakened  her, 
and  she  lived  a  sad,  drifting  life  of  languor  until 
autumn. 

When  the  cold  weather  came  back,  she  was 
brought  face  to  face,  for  the  first  time,  with  the 
gloomy  future.  What  was  she  to  do?  Nothing. 
What  was  going  to  happen  to  her  henceforth  ?  Noth- 
ing. What  expectation,  what  hope,  could  revive  her 
heart.?  None.  A  doctor  who  was  consulted  de- 
clared that  she  would  never  have  children. 

Sharper,  more  penetrating  still  than  the  year  be- 
fore, the  cold  made  her  suffer  continually. 

She  stretched  out  her  shivering  hands  to  the  big 
flames.  The  glaring  fire  burned  her  face;  but  icy 
puffs  seemed  to  slip  down  her  back  and  to  penetrate 
between  the  flesh  and  her  underclothing.  And  she 
shook  from  head  to  foot.  Innumerable  currents  of  air 
appeared  to  have  taken  up  their  abode  in  the  apart- 
ment, living,  crafty  currents  of  air,  as  cruel  as  ene- 
mies. She  encountered  them  every  moment;  they 
were  incessantly  buffeting  her,  sometimes  on  the  face, 
sometimes  on  the  hands,  sometimes  on  the  neck, 
with  their  treacherous,  frozen  breath. 

Once  more  she  spoke  of  a  hot-air  plant;  but 
her  husband  heard  her  request  as  if  she  were  asking 
for  the  moon.  The  introduction  of  such  an  appara- 
tus at  Parville  appeared  to  him  as  impossible  as  the 
discovery  of  the  Philosopher's  Stone. 

Having  been  at  Rouen  on  business  one  day  he 
brought  back  to  his  wife  a  dainty  foot-warmer  made 


THE   FIRST   SNOWFALL  255 

of  copper,  which  he  laughingly  called  a  "portable  hot- 
water  heater";  and  he  considered  that  this  would  pre- 
vent her  henceforth  from  ever  being  cold. 

Toward  the  end  of  December  she  understood  that 
she  could  not  live  thus  always,  and  she  said  timidly 
one  evening  at  dinner: 

"Listen,  dear!  Are  we  not  going  to  spend  a 
w<ek  or  two  in  Paris  before  spring?" 

He  was  stupefied: 

"In  Paris?  In  Paris?  But  what  are  we  to  do 
there?  No,  by  Jove!  We  are  better  off  here.  What 
odd  ideas  come  into  your  head  sometimes." 

She  faltered: 

"  It  might  distract  us  a  little." 

He  did  not  understand: 

"What  is  it  you  want  to  distract  you  ?  Theaters, 
evening  parties,  dinners  in  town?  You  know,  how- 
ever, well  that  in  coming  here  you  ought  not  to  ex- 
pect any  distractions  of  that  kind!" 

She  saw  a  reproach  in  these  words  and  in  the 
tone  in  which  they  were  uttered.  She  relapsed  into 
silence.  She  was  timid  and  gentle,  without  resisting 
power  and  without  strength  of  will. 

In  January,  the  cold  weather  returned  with  vio- 
lence.    Then  the  snow  covered  the  earth. 

One  evening,  as  she  watched  the  great  whirling 
cloud  of  crows  winding  round  the  trees,  she  began 
to  weep,  in  spite  of  herself. 

Her  husband  came  in.  He  asked,  in  great  sur- 
prise: 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

He  was  happy,  quite  happy,  never  having  dreamed 
of  another  life  or  other  pleasures.     He  had  been  born 


256  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

and  had  grown  up  in  this  melancholy  district.  He 
felt  well  in  his  own  house,  at  his  ease  in  body  and 
mind. 

He  did  not  realize  that  we  may  desire  events,  have 
a  thirst  for  changing  pleasures;  he  did  not  understand 
that  it  does  not  seem  natural  to  certain  beings  to  re- 
main in  the  same  places  during  the  four  seasons;  he 
seemed  not  to  know  that  spring,  summer,  autumn, 
and  winter,  have,  for  multitudes  of  persons,  new 
pleasures  in  new  countries. 

She  could  not  say  anything  in  reply,  and  she 
quickly  dried  her  eyes.  At  last  she  murmured,  in  a 
distracted  sort  of  way: 

"lam  —  1 — 1  am  a  little  sad  —  I  am  a  little  bored." 

But  she  was  seized  with  terror  for  having  even 
said  so  much,  and  she  added  very  quickly: 

"And  besides  —  1  am  —  I  am  a  little  cold." 

At  this  statement  he  got  angry: 

"Ah!  yes,  still  your  idea  of  the  hot-air  plant. 
But  look  here,  deuce  take  it!  you  have  only  had  one 
cold  since  you  came  here." 

>|c  4(  4:  ^  4:  >l<  ))i 

The  night  came.  She  went  up  to  her  room,  for 
she  had  insisted  on  having  a  separate  apartment.  She 
went  to  bed.  Even  in  the  bed,  she  felt  cold.  She 
thought:  "Is  it  to  be  like  this  always,  always  till 
death?" 

And  she  thought  of  her  husband.  How  could  he 
have  said  this: 

"You  have  only  had  one  cold  since  you  came 
here?" 

Then  she  must  get  ill;  she  must  cough  in  order 
that  he  might  understand  what  she  suffered! 


THE   FIRST   SNOWFALL 


257 


And  she  was  filled  with  indignation,  the  angry 
indignation  of  a  weak,  a  timid  being. 

She  must  cough.  Then,  without  doubt,  he  would 
take  pity  on  her.  Well,  she  would  cough;  he  would 
hear  her  coughing;  the  doctor  should  be  called  in; 
he  would  see  that  her  husband  would  see. 

She  got  up  with  her  legs  and  her  feet  naked,  and 
a  childish  idea  made  her  smile: 

"I  want  a  hot-air  plant,  and  I  must  have  it.  I 
shall  cough  so  much  that  he'll  have  to  put  one 
into  the  house." 

And  she  sat  down  almost  naked  in  a  chair.  She 
waited  an  hour,  two  hours.  She  shivered,  but  she 
did  not  catch  cold.  Then  she  resolved  to  make  use 
of  a  bold  expedient. 

She  noiselessly  left  her  room,  descended  the  stairs, 
and  opened  the  garden-gate. 

The  earth,  covered  with  snow,  seemed  dead.  She 
abruptly  thrust  forward  her  naked  foot,  and  plunged 
it  into  the  light  and  icy  froth.  A  sensation  of  cold, 
painful  as  a  wound,  mounted  up  to  her  heart.  How- 
ever, she  stretched  out  the  other  leg  and  began  to 
descend  the  steps  slowly. 

Then  she  advanced  through  the  grass,  saying  to 
herself: 

"I'll  go  as  far  as  the  fir-trees." 

She  walked  with  quick  steps,  out  of  breath,  chok- 
ing every  time  she  drove  her  foot  through  the  snow. 

She  touched  the  first  fir-tree  with  her  hand,  as  if 
to  convince  herself  that  she  carried  out  her  plan  to 
the  end;  then  she  went  back  into  the  house.  She 
believed  two  or  three  times  that  she  was  going  to 
fall,  so   torpid    and  weak  did   she  feel.     Before   going 

$     G.  deM.— 17 


258 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


in,  meanwhile,  she  sat  in  that  icy  snow,  and  she  even 
gathered  some  in  order  to  rub  to  her  breast. 

Then  she  went  in,  and  got  into  bed.  It  seemed 
to  her,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  that  she  had  a  swarm 
of  ants  in  her  throat,  and  that  other  ants  were  run- 
ning all  over  her  limbs.     She  slept,  however. 

Next  day,  she  was  coughing,  and  she  could  not 
get  up. 

She  got  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  She  became 
delirious,  and  in  her  delirium  she  asked  for  a  hot- 
air  plant.  The  doctor  insisted  on  having  one  put  in. 
Henry  yielded,  but  with  an  irritated  repugnance. 

She  could  not  be  cured.  The  lungs,  severely  at- 
tacked, made  those  who  attended  on  her  uneasy 
about  her  life. 

"If  she  remains  here,  she  will  not  last  as  long  as 
the  next  cold  weather,"  said  the  doctor. 

She  was  sent  to  the  south.  She  came  to  Cannes, 
recognized  the  sun,  loved  the  sea,  and  breathed  the 
air  of  orange-blossoms.  Then  in  the  spring,  she  re- 
turned north.  But  she  lived  with  the  fear  of  being 
cured,  with  the  fear  of  the  long  winters  of  Normandy; 
and  as  soon  as  she  was  better,  she  opened  her  win- 
dow by  night  while  thinking  of  the  sweet  banks  of 
the  Mediterranean.  And  now  she  was  going  to  die. 
She  knew  it  and  yet  she  was  contented. 

She  unfolds  a  newspaper  which  she  had  not  al- 
ready opened,  and  reads  this  heading: 

"THE   FIRST   SNOW  IN   PARIS." 

After  this,  she  shivers  and  yet  smiles.  She  looks 
across   at   the    Esterel   which   is   turning   rose-colored 


THE   FIRST  SNOWFALL 


259 


under  the  setting  sun.  She  looks  at  the  vast  blue 
sky,  so  blue,  so  very  blue,  and  the  vast  blue  sea,  so 
very  blue  also,  and  rises  up  and  returns  to  the  house, 
with  slow  steps,  only  stopping  to  cough,  for  she  had 
remained  out  too  long;  and  she  has  caught  cold,  a 
slight  cold. 

She  finds  a  letter  from  her  husband.     She  opens  it 
still  smiling,  and  she  reads: 


<( 


'My  dear  Love:  I  hope  you  are  going  on  well,  and  that  you 
do  not  regret  too  much  our  beautiful  district.  We  have  had  for  some 
days  past  a  good  frost  which  announces  snow.  For  my  part,  I  adore 
this  weather,  and  you  understand  that  I  am  keeping  that  cursed  hot- 
air  plant  of  yours  going.  —  " 

She  ceases  reading,  quite  happy  at  the  thought 
that  she  has  had  her  hot-air  plant.  Her  right  hand, 
which  holds  the  letter,  falls  down  slowly  over  her 
knees,  while  she  raises  her  left  hand  to  her  mouth, 
as  if  to  calm  the  obstinate  cough  which  is  tearing 
her  chest. 


BOITELLE 


,ERE  BoiTELLE  (Antoine)  had  the  rep- 
utation through  the  whole  country 
of  a  speciaHst  in  dirty  jobs.   Every 
time  a  pit,  a  dunghill,   or  a  cesspool 
required    to    be    cleared    away,   or    a 
dirt-hole    to   be   cleansed    out,  he   was 
the  person  employed  to  do  it. 

He  would  come  there  with  his  night- 
man's tools   and   his  wooden   shoes    cov- 
ered  with    dirt,    and   would    set    to   work, 
whining  incessantly  about   the    nature  of  his 
^^    occupation.     When  people   asked  him  why  he 
"^    did   this   loathsome   work,    he   would   reply   re- 
^  signedly: 

"Faith,  'tis  for  my  children  whom  I  must  support. 
This  brings  in  more  than  anything  else." 

He  had,  indeed,  fourteen  children.  If  anyone  asked 
him  what  had  become  of  them,  he  would  say  with 
an  air  of  indifference: 

"There  are  only  eight  of  them  left  in  the  house. 
One  is  out  at  service,  and  five  are  married." 

When   the    questioner  wanted    to    know   whether 
they  were  well  married,  he  replied  vivaciously; 
(260) 


BOITELLE  261 

"I  did  not  cross  them.  I  crossed  them  in  noth- 
ing. They  married  just  as  they  pleased.  We  shouldn't 
go  against  people's  likings  —  it  turns  out  badly.  1  am 
a  night-cartman  because  my  parents  went  against  my 
likings.  But  for  that  I  would  have  become  a  work- 
man like  the  others." 

Here  is  the  way  his  parents  had  thwarted  him  in 
his  likings: 

He  was  at  that  time  a  soldier  stationed  at  Havre, 
not  more  stupid  than  another,  or  sharper  either,  a 
rather  simple  fellow,  in  truth.  During  his  hours  of 
freedom  his  greatest  pleasure  was  to  walk  along  the 
quay,  where  the  bird-dealers  congregate.  Sometimes 
alone,  sometimes  with  a  soldier  from  his  own  part  of 
the  country,  he  would  slowly  saunter  along  by  cages 
where  parrots  with  green  backs  and  yellow  heads 
from  the  banks  of  the  Amazon,  parrots  with  gray 
backs  and  red  heads  from  Senegal,  enormous  macaws, 
which  looked  like  birds  brought  up  in  conservatories, 
with  their  flower-like  feathers,  plumes,  and  tufts,  par- 
oquets of  every  shape,  painted  with  minute  care  by 
that  excellent  miniaturist,  God  Almighty,  with  the 
little  young  birds,  hopping  about,  yellow,  blue,  and 
variegated,  mingling  their  cries  with  the  noise  of  the 
quay,  added  to  the  din  caused  by  the  unloading  of 
the  vessels,  as  well  as  by  passengers  and  vehicles  — 
a  violent  clamor,  loud,  shrill,  and  deafening,  as  if 
from  some  distant,  monstrous  forest. 

Boitelle  would  stop,  with  strained  eyes,  wide-open 
mouth,  laughing  and  enraptured,  showing  his  teeth  to 
the  captive  cockatoos,  who  kept  nodding  their  white 
or  yellow  topknots  toward  the  glaring  red  of  his 
breeches   and   the  copper   buckle   of  his   belt.     When 


262  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

he  found  a  bird  that  could  talk,  he  put  questions  to 
it,  and  if  it  happened  at  the  time  to  be  disposed  to 
reply  and  to  hold  a  conversation  with  him,  he  would 
remain  there  till  nightfall  filled  with  gaiety  and  con- 
tentment. He  also  found  heaps  of  fun  in  looking  at 
the  monkeys,  and  could  conceive  no  greater  luxury 
for  a  rich  man  than  to  possess  these  animals,  just  like 
cats  and  dogs.  This  taste  for  the  exotic  he  had  in 
his  blood,  as  people  have  a  taste  for  the  chase,  or  for 
medicine,  or  for  the  priesthood.  He  could  not  refrain, 
every  time  the  gates  of  the  barracks  opened,  from 
going  back  to  the  quay,  as  if  drawn  toward  it  by  an 
irresistible  longing. 

Now,  on  one  occasion,  having  stopped  almost  in 
ecstasy  before  an  enormous  ararauna,  which  was 
swelling  out  its  plumes,  bending  forward,  and  brid- 
ling up  again,  as  if  making  the  court-courtesies  of 
parrot-land,  he  saw  the  door  of  a  little  tavern 
adjoining  the  bird-dealer's  shop  opening,  and  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  young  negress,  with 
a  silk  kerchief  tied  round  her  head,  sweeping  into 
the  street  the  rubbish  and  the  sand  of  the  establish- 
ment. 

Boitelle's  attention  was  soon  divided  between  the 
bird  and  the  woman,  and  he  really  could  not  tell 
which  of  these  two  beings  he  contemplated  with  the 
greater  astonishment  and  delight. 

The  negress,  having  got  rid  of  the  sweepings  of 
the  tavern,  raised  her  eyes,  and,  in  her  turn,  was 
dazzled  by  the  soldier's  uniform.  There  she  stood 
facing  him  with  her  broom  in  her  hands  as  if  she 
were  presenting  arms  for  him,  while  the  ararauna  con- 
tinued making  courtesies.     Now  at  the  end  of  a  few 


BOITELLE  263 

seconds  the  soldier  began  to  get  embarrassed  by  this 
attention,  and  he  walked  away  gingerly  so  as  not  to 
present  the  appearance  of  beating  a  retreat. 

But  he  came  back.  Almost  every  day  he  passed 
in  front  of  the  Colonial  tavern,  and  often  he  could 
distinguish  through  the  v/indowpanes  the  figure  of 
the  little  black-skinned  maid  filling  out  "bocks"  or 
glasses  of  brandy  for  the  sailors  of  the  port.  Fre- 
quently, too  she  would  come  out  to  the  door  on 
seeing  him.  Soon,  without  even  having  exchanged  a 
word,  they  smiled  at  one  another  like  old  acquaint- 
ances; and  Boitelle  felt  his  heart  moved  when  he  saw 
suddenly  glittering  between  the  dark  lips  of  the  girl 
her  shining  row  of  white  teeth.  At  length,  he  ven- 
tured one  day  to  enter,  and  was  quite  surprised  to 
find  that  she  could  speak  French  like  everyone  else. 
The  bottle  of  lemonade,  of  which  she  was  good 
enough  to  accept  a  glassful,  remained  in  the  soldier's 
recollection  memorably  delicious;  and  it  became 
habitual  with  him  to  come  and  absorb  in  this  little 
tavern  on  the  quay  all  the  agreeable  drinks  which 
he  could  afford. 

For  him  it  was  a  treat,  a  happiness,  on  which  his 
thoughts  were  constantly  dwelling,  to  watch  the  black 
hand  of  the  little  maid  pouring  out  something  into  his 
glass  while  her  teeth,  brighter  than  her  eyes,  showed 
themselves  as  she  laughed.  When  they  had  kept 
company  in  this  way  for  two  months,  they  became 
fast  friends,  and  Boitelle,  after  his  first  astonishment 
at  discovering  that  this  negress  was  in  principle  as 
good  as  the  best  girls  in  the  country,  that  she  ex- 
hibited a  regard  for  economy,  industry,  religion,  and 
good  conduct,  loved  her  more   on   that  account,  and 


264  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

became  so  much  smitten  with  her  that  he  wanted  to 
marry  her. 

He  told  her  about  his  intentions,  which  made  her 
dance  with  joy.  Besides,  she  had  a  little  money,  left 
her  by  a  female  oyster  dealer,  who  had  picked  her  up 
when  she  had  been  left  on  the  quay  at  Havre  by  an 
American  captain.  This  captain  had  found  her,  when 
she  was  only  about  six  years  old,  lying  on  bales  of 
cotton  in  the  hold  of  his  ship,  some  hours  after  his 
departure  from  New  York,  On  his  arrival  in  Havre, 
he  there  abandoned  to  the  care  of  this  compassionate 
oyster-dealer  the  little  black  creature,  who  had  been 
hidden  on  board  his  vessel,  he  could  not  tell  how  or 
why. 

The  oyster-woman  having  died,  the  young  negress 
became  a  servant  at  the  Colonial  tavern. 

Antoine  Boitelle  added:  "This  will  be  all  right  if 
my  parents  don't  go  against  it.  I  will  never  go 
against  them,  you  understand  —  never!  I'm  going  to 
say  a  word  or  two  to  them  the  first  time  I  go  back 
to  the  country." 

On  the  following  week,  in  fact,  having  obtained 
twenty-four  hours'  leave,  he  went  to  see  his  tamily, 
who  cultivated  a  little  farm  at  Tourteville  near 
Yvetot. 

He  waited  till  the  meal  was  finished,  the  hour 
when  the  coffee  baptized  with  brandy  makes  people 
more  open-hearted,  before  informing  his  parents  that 
he  had  found  a  girl  answering  so  well  to  his  likings 
in  every  way  that  there  could  not  exist  any  other  in 
all  the  world  so  perfectly  suited  to  him. 

The  old  people,  at  this  observation,  immediately 
assumed  a  circumspect   air,  and  wanted  explanations. 


BOITELLE  2th 

At  first  he  concealed  nothing  from  them  except  the 
color  of  her  skin. 

She  was  a  servant,  without  much  means,  but  strong, 
thrifty,  clean,  well-conducted,  and  sensible.  All  these 
things  were  better  than  money  would  be  in  the  hands 
of  a  bad  housewife.  Moreover,  she  had  a  few  sous, 
left  her  by  a  woman  who  had  reared  her, —  a  good 
number  of  sous,  almost  a  little  dowry, —  fifteen  hun- 
dred francs  in  the  savings'  banic.  The  old  people, 
overcome  by  his  talk,  and  relying,  too,  on  their  own 
judgment,  were  gradually  giving  way,  when  he  came 
to  the  delicate  point.  Laughing  in  rather  a  con- 
strained fashion,  he  said: 

"There's  only  one  thing  you  may  not  like.  She 
is  not  white." 

They  did  not  understand,  and  he  had  to  explain 
at  some  length  and  very  cautiously,  to  avoid  shocking 
them,  that  she  belonged  to  the  dusky  race  of  which 
they  had  only  seen  samples  among  figures  exhibited 
at  Epinal.  Then,  they  became  restless,  perplexed, 
alarmed,  as  if  he  had  proposed  a  union  with  the  Devil. 

The  mother  said:  "  Black  .^  How  much  of  her  is 
black  .^     Is  it  the  whole  of  her?" 

He  replied:  "Certainly.  Everywhere,  just  as  you 
are  white  everywhere." 

The  father  interposed:  "Black?  Is  it  as  black  as 
the  pot?" 

The  son  answered:  "Perhaps  a  little  less  than 
that.  She  is  black,  but  not  disgustingly  black.  The 
cure's  cassock  is  black;  but  it  is  not  uglier  than  a 
surplice,  which  is  white." 

The  father  said:  "Are  there  more  black  people 
besides  her  in  her  country?" 


266  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  the  son,  with  an  air  of  conviction,  exclaimed: 
"Certainly!" 

But  the  old  man  shook  his  head:  "This  must  be 
disagreeable!" 

Said  the  son:  "It  isn't  more  disagreeable  than 
anything  else,  seeing  that  you  get  used  to  it  in  no 
time." 

The  mother  asked:  "It  doesn't  soil  linen  more 
than   other  skins,  this  black   skin?" 

"Not  more  than  your  own,  as  it  is  her  proper 
color." 

Then,  after  many  other  questions,  it  was  agreed 
that  the  parents  should  see  this  girl  before  coming  to 
any  decision  and  that  the  young  fellow,  whose  period 
of  service  was  coming  to  an  end  in  the  course  of  a 
month,  should  bring  her  to  the  house  in  order  that 
they  might  examine  her,  and  decide  by  talking  the 
matter  over  whether  or  not  she  was  too  dark  to 
enter  the  Boitelle  family. 

Antoine  accordingly  announced  that  on  Sunday, 
the  twenty-second  of  May,  the  day  of  his  discharge, 
he  would  start  for  Tourteville  with  his  sweetheart. 

She  had  put  on,  for  this  journey  to  the  house  of 
her  lover's  parents,  her  most  beautiful  and  most  gaudy 
clothes,  in  which  yellow,  red,  and  blue  were  the  pre- 
vailing colors,  so  that  she  had  the  appearance  of  one 
adorned  for  a  national  fete. 

At  the  terminus,  as  they  were  leaving  Havre,  peo- 
ple stared  at  her  very  much,  and  Boitelle  was  proud 
of  giving  his  arm  to  a  person  who  commanded  so 
much  attention.  Then,  in  the  third-class  carriage,  in 
which  she  took  a  seat  by  his  side,  she  excited  so 
much  astonishment  among  the  peasants  that  the  peo- 


BOITELLE 


267 


pie  in  the  adjoining  compartments  got  up  on  tlieir 
benches  to  get  a  look  at  her  over  the  wooden  par- 
tition which  divided  the  different  portions  of  the  car- 
riage from  one  another.  A  child,  at  sight  of  her, 
began  to  cry  with  terror,  another  concealed  his  face 
in  his  mother's  apron.  Everything  went  off  well, 
however,  up  to  their  arrival  at  their  destination.  But, 
when  the  train  slackened  its  rate  of  motion  as  they 
drew  near  Yvetot,  Antoine  felt  ill  at  ease,  as  he 
would  have  done  at  an  inspection  when  he  did  not 
know  his  drill-practice.  Then,  as  he  put  his  head 
out  through  the  carriage  door,  he  recognized,  some 
distance  away,  his  father,  who  was  holding  the  bri- 
dle of  the  horse  yoked  to  a  carriage,  and  his  mother 
who  had  made  her  way  to  the  railed  portion  of  the 
platform  where  a  number  of  spectators  had  gath- 
ered. 

He  stepped  out  first,  gave  his  hand  to  his  sweet- 
heart, and  holding  himself  erect,  as  if  he  were  escort- 
ing a  general,  he  advanced  toward  his  family. 

The  mother,  on  seeing  this  black  lady,  in  varie- 
gated costume  in  her  son's  company,  remained  so 
stupefied  that  she  could  not  open  her  mouth;  and  the 
father  found  it  hard  to  hold  the  iiorse,  which  the  en- 
gine or  the  negress  caused  to  rear  for  some  time 
without  stopping.  But  Antoine,  suddenly  seized  with 
the  unmingled  joy  of  seeing  once  more  the  old  peo- 
ple, rushed  forward  with  open  arms,  em.braced  his 
mother,  embraced  his  father,  in  spite  of  the  nag's 
fright,  and  then  turning  toward  his  companion,  at 
whom  the  passengers  on  the  platform  stopped  to 
stare  with  amazement,  he  proceeded  to  explain: 

"Here  she  isl     I  told  you   that,  at  first  sight,  she 


268  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

seems  odd;  but  as  soon  as  you  know  her,  in  very 
truth,  there's  not  a  better  sort  in  the  whole  world. 
Say  good  morrow  to  her  without  making  any  bother 
about  it." 

Thereupon,  Mere  Boitelle,  herself  nearly  frightened 
out  of  her  wits,  made  a  sort  of  courtesy,  while  the 
father  took  off  his  cap,  murmuring:  "I  wish  you 
good  luck!  " 

Then,  without  further  delay,  they  climbed  up  on 
the  car,  the  two  women  at  the  lower  end  on  seats, 
which  made  them  jump  up  and  down  as  the  vehicle 
went  jolting  along  the  road,  and  the  two  men  out- 
side on  the  front  seat. 

Nobody  spoke.  Antoine,  ill  at  ease,  whistled  a 
barrack- room  air;  his  father  lashed  the  nag;  and  his 
mother,  from  where  she  sat  in  the  corner,  kept  cast- 
ing sly  glances  at  the  negress,  whose  forehead  and 
cheek-bones  shone  in  the  sunlight  like  well-blacked 
shoes. 

Wishing  to  break  the    ice,  Antoine   turned   round. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "we  don't  seem  inclined  to 
talk." 

"We  must  get  time,"  replied  the  old  woman. 

He  went  on: 

"Come!  tell  us  the  little  story  about  that  hen  of 
yours  that  laid  eight  eggs." 

It  was  a  funny  anecdote  of  long  standing  in  the 
family.  But,  as  his  mother  still  remained  silent,  par- 
alyzed by  emotion,  he  started  the  talking  himself  and 
narrated,  with  much  laughter  on  his  own  part,  this 
memorable  adventure.  The  father,  who  knew  it  by 
heart,  brightened  up  at  the  opening  words  of  the  nar- 
rative;   his  wife  soon  followed  his  example;   and  the 


BOITELLE  269 

negress  herself,  when  he  had  reached  the  drollest  part 
of  it,  suddenly  gave  vent  to  a  laugh  so  noisy,  rolling, 
and  torrentlike  that  the  horse,  becoming  excited, 
broke  into  a  gallop  for  a  little  while. 

This  served  as  the  introduction  to  their  acquaint- 
anceship.    The  company  at  length  began  to  chat. 

On  reaching  the  house  they  all  alighted,  and  he 
conducted  his  sweetheart  to  a  room  so  that  she 
might  take  off  her  dress,  to  avoid  staining  it  while 
preparing  a  good  dish  intended  to  win  the  old  peo- 
ple's affections  by  appealing  to  their  stomachs.  Then 
he  drew  his  parents  aside  near  the  door,  and  with 
beating  heart,  asked: 

"Well,  what  do  vou  say  now?" 

The  father  said  nothing.  The  mother,  less  timid, 
exclaimed: 

"She  is  too  black.  No,  indeed,  this  is  too  much 
for  me.     It  turns  my  blood." 

"That  may  be,  but  it  is  only  for  the  moment." 

They  then  made  their  way  into  the  interior  of  the 
house  where  the  good  woman  was  somewhat  affected 
at  the  spectacle  of  the  negress  engaged  in  cooking. 
She  at  once  proceeded  to  assist  her,  with  petticoats 
tucked  up,  active  in  spite  of  her  age. 

The  meal  was  an  excellent  one  —  very  long,  very 
enjoyable.  When  they  had  afterward  taken  a  turn  to- 
gether, Antoine  said  to  his  father: 

"Well,  dad,  what  do  you  say  to  this?" 

The  peasant  took  care  never  to  compromise  him- 
self. 

"I  have  no  opinion  about  it.      Ask  your  mother." 

So  Antoine  went  back  to  his  mother,  and.  leading 
her  to  the  end  of  the  room,  said: 


270  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Well,  mother,  what  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"My  poor  lad,  she  is  really  too  black.  If  she  were 
only  a  little  less  black,  I  would  not  go  against  you, 
but  this  is  too  much.  One  would  think  it  was 
Satan!" 

He  did  not  press  her,  knowing  how  obstinate  the 
ola  woman  had  always  been,  but  he  felt  a  tempest 
of  disappointment  sweeping  over  his  heart.  He  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  what  he  ought  to  do,  what 
plan  he  could  devise,  surprised,  moreover,  that  she 
had  not  conquered  them  already  as  she  had  captivated 
himself.  And  they  all  four  set  out  with  slow  steps 
through  the  cornfields,  having  again  relapsed  into  si- 
lence. Whenever  they  passed  a  fence,  they  saw  a 
countryman  sitting  on  the  stile  and  a  group  of  brats 
climbing  up  to  stare  at  them.  People  rushed  out  into 
the  road  to  see  the  "black"  whom  young  Boitelle 
had  brought  home  with  him.  At  a  distance  they 
noticed  people  scampering  across  the  fields  as  they 
do  when  the  drum  beats  to  draw  public  attention  to 
some  living  phenomenon.  Pere  and  Mere  Boitelle, 
scared  by  this  curiosity,  which  was  exhibited  every- 
where through  the  country  at  their  approach,  quick- 
ened their  pace,  walking  side  by  side,  leaving  far 
behind  their  son,  whom  his  dark  companion  asked 
what  his  parents  thought  of  her. 

He  hesitatingly  replied  that  they^  had  not  yet  made 
up  their  minds. 

But  on  the  village-green,  people  rushed  out  of  all 
the  houses  in  a  flutter  of  excitement;  and,  at  the 
sight  of  the  gathering  rabble,  old  Boitelle  took  to  his 
heels,  and  regained  his  abode,  while  Antoine,  swell- 
ing with  rage,  his  sweetheart    on   his   arm,  advanced 


BOITELLE 


271 


majestically  under  the  battery  of  staring  eyes,  opened 
wide  in  amazement. 

He  understood  that  it  was  at  an  end,  that  there 
was  no  hope  for  him,  that  he  could  not  marry  his 
negress.  She  also  understood  it;  and  as  they  drew 
near  the  farmhouse  they  both  began  to  weep.  As 
soon  as  they  had  got  buck  to  the  house,  she  once 
more  took  off  her  dress  to  aid  the  mother  in  her 
household  duties,  and  followed  her  everywhere,  to 
the  dairy,  to  the  stable,  to  the  henhouse,  taking  on 
herself  the  hardest  part  of  the  work,  repeating  always, 
"Let  me  do  it,  Madame  Boitelle,"  so  that,  when 
night  came  on,  the  old  woman,  touched  but  inexora- 
ble, said  to  her  son:  "She  is  a  good  girl,  all  the 
same.  'Tis  a  pity  she  is  so  black;  but  indeed  she  is 
too  much  so,  1  couldn't  get  used  to  it.  She  must 
go  back  again.     She  is  too  black!" 

And  young  Boitelle  said  to  his  sweetheart: 

"She  will  not  consent.  She  thinks  you  are  too 
black.  You  must  go  back  again.  1  will  go  with 
you  to  the  train.  No  matter  —  don't  fret.  1  am  go- 
ing to  talk  to  them  after  you  have  started." 

He  then  conducted  her  to  the  railv/ay-station,  still 
cheering  her  up  with  hope,  and,  when  he  had  kissed 
her,  he  put  her  into  the  train,  which  he  watched  as 
it  passed  out  of  sight,  his  eyes  swollen  with  tears.  In 
vain  did  he  appeal  to  the  old  people.  They  would 
not  give  their  consent. 

And  when  he  had  told  this  story,  which  was 
known  all  over  the  country,  Antoine  Boitelle  would 
always  add: 

"From  that  time  forward  1  have  had  no  heart  for 
anything  —  for  anything   at   all.     No   trade   suited    me 


272 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


any  longer,  and  so  I  became  what  I  am  —  a  night- 
cartman." 

People  would  say  to  him:  "Yet  you  got  mar- 
ried." 

"Yes,  and  I  can't  say  that  my  wife  didn't  please 
me,  seeing  that  I've  got  fourteen  children;  but  she  is 
not  the  other  one,  oh!  no  —  certainly  not!  The  other 
one,  mark  you,  my  negress,  she  had  only  to  give 
me  one  glance  and  1  felt  as  if  I  were  in  Heaven!" 


THE    ACCURSED    BREAD 


ADDY  Taille  had  three  daughters: 
Anna,     the     eldest,     who     was 
scarcely  ever    mentioned    in    the 
family;  Rose,  the  second  girl,  who 
was  eighteen;  and  Clara,  the  young- 
est, who  was  a  girl  of  fifteen. 
..  ^  Old   Taille  was    a   widower,    and    a 

_^     foreman  in  M.  Lebrument's  button-man- 
ufactory.    He    was    a   very    upright    man, 
- _~     very  well    thought    of,  abstemious;    in    fact 
a    sort    of    model    workman.      He    lived    at 
p*  Havre,  in  the  Rue  d'Angouleme. 

When  Anna  ran  away  the  old  man  flew 
^  into  a  fearful  rage.  He  threatened  to  kill  the 
seducer,  who  was  head  clerk  in  a  large  draper's  es- 
tablishment in  that  town.  Then  when  he  was  told  by 
various  people  that  she  was  keeping  very  steady  and 
investing  money  in  government  securities,  that  she 
was  no  gadabout,  but  was  maintained  by  a  Monsieur 
Dubois,  who  was  a  judge  of  the  Tribunal  of  Com- 
merce, the  father  was  appeased. 

He    even    showed    some    anxiety    as    to    how    she 
was  faring,  asked   some  of  her   old   friends  who   had 

5    G.  deM.— 18  (273) 


274 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


been  to  see  her  how  she  was  getting  on;  and 
when  told  that  she  had  her  own  furniture,  and  that 
her  mantelpiece  was  covered  with  vases  and  the 
walls  with  pictures,  that  there  were  clocks  and  car- 
pets everywhere,  he  gave  a  broad,  contented  smile. 
He  had  been  working  for  thirty  years  to  get  together 
a  wretched  five  or  six  thousand  francs.  This  girl 
was  evidently  no  fool. 

One  fine  morning  the  son  of  Touchard,  the  cooper 
at  the  other  end  of  the  street,  came  and  asked  him 
for  the  hand  of  Rose,  the  second  girl.  The  old  man's 
heart  began  to  beat,  for  the  Touchards  were  rich  and 
in  a  good  position.  He  was  decidedly  lucky  with 
his  girls. 

The  marriage  was  agreed  upon.  It  was  settled 
that  it  should  be  a  grand  affair,  and  the  wedding 
dinner  was  to  be  held  at  Sainte-Adresse,  at  Mother 
Lusa's  restaurant.  It  would  cost  a  lot  certainly;  but 
never  mind,  it  did  not  matter  just  for  once  in  a  way. 

But  one  morning,  just  as  the  old  man  was  going 
home  to  breakfast  with  his  two  daughters,  the  door 
opened  suddenly  and  Anna  appeared.  She  was  ele- 
gantly dressed,  wore  rings  and  an  expensive  bonnet, 
and  looked  undeniably  pretty  and  nice.  She  threw 
her  arms  round  her  father's  neck  before  he  could  say 
a  word,  then  fell  into  her  sisters'  arms  with  many 
tears,  and  then  asked  for  a  plate,  so  that  she  might 
share  the  family  soup.  Taille  was  moved  to  tears  in 
his  turn  and  said  several  times: 

"That  is  right,  dear;  that  is  right." 

Then  she  told  them  about  herself.  She  did  not 
wish  Rose's  wedding  to  take  place  at  Sainte-Adresse, 
— certainly  not.     It   should   take   place   at  her  house, 


THE   ACCURSED    BREAD 


275 


and  would  cost  her  father  nothing.  She  had  settled 
everything  and  arranged  everything,  so  it  was  "no 
good  to  say  any  more  about  it, — there!" 

"Very  well,  my  dear!  very  well!"  the  old  man 
said,  "we  will  leave  it  so."  But  then  he  felt  some 
doubt.  Would  the  Touchards  consent.^  But  Rose, 
the  bride-elect,  was  surprised,  and  asked,  "Why 
should  they  object,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Just  leave 
that  to  me,  I  will  talk  to  Philip  about  it." 

She  mentioned  it  to  her  lover  the  very  same  day, 
and  he  declared  that  it  would  suit  him  exactly. 
Father  and  Mother  Touchard  were  naturally  delighted 
at  the  idea  of  a  good  dinner  which  would  cost  them 
nothing  and  said: 

"You  may  be  quite  sure  that  everything  will  be 
in  first-rate  style,  as   M.  Dubois   is   made  of  money." 

They  asked  to  be  allowed  to  bring  a  friend,  Mme. 
Florence,  the  cook  on  the  first  floor,  and  Anna  agreed 
to  everything.  The  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  last 
Tuesday  of  the  month. 


II. 


After  the  civil  formalities  and  the  religious  cere- 
mony the  wedding  party  went  to  Anna's  house. 
Among  those  whom  the  Tallies  had  brought  was  a 
cousin  of  a  certain  age,  a  M.  Sauvetanin,  a  man  given 
to  philosophical  reflections,  serious,  and  always  very 
self-possessed,  and  Mme.   Lamonoois,  an  old  aunt. 

M.  Sauvetanin  had  been  told  off  to  give  Anna  his 
arm,  as  they  were  looked  upon  as  the  two  most  im- 
portant persons  in  the  company. 


2^6  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

As  soon  as  they  had  arrived  at  the  door  of  An- 
na's house  she  let  go  her  companion's  arm,  and 
ran  on  ahead,  saying,  "I  will  show  you  the  way," 
while  the  invited  guests  followed  more  slowly.  When 
they  got  upstairs,  she  stood  on  one  side  to  let  them 
pass,  and  they  rolled  their  eyes  and  turned  their  heads 
in  all  directions  to  admire  this  mysterious  and  luxu- 
rious dwelling. 

The  table  was  laid  in  the  drawing-room  as  the 
dining-room  had  been  thought  too  small.  Extra 
knives,  forks,  and  spoons  had  been  hired  from  a 
neighboring  restaurant,  and  decanters  full  of  wine 
glittered  under  the  rays  of  the  sun,  which  shone  in 
through  the  window. 

The  ladies  went  into  the  bedroom  to  take  off 
their  shawls  and  bonnets,  and  Father  Touchard,  who 
was  standing  at  the  door,  squinted  at  the  low,  wide 
bed,  and  made  funny  signs  to  the  men,  with  many  a 
wink  and  nod.  Daddy  Taille,  who  thought  a  great 
deal  of  himself,  looked  with  fatherly  pride  at  his 
child's  well-furnished  rooms,  and  went  from  one  to 
the  other  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand,  making  a  men- 
tal inventory  of  everything,  and  walking  like  a  verger 
in  a  church. 

Anna  went  backward  and  forward,  and  ran  about 
giving  orders  and  hurrying  on  the  wedding  feast. 
Soon  she  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room, 
and  cried:  "Come  here,  all  of  you,  for  a  moment," 
and  when  the  twelve  guests  did  as  they  were  asked 
they  saw  twelve  glasses  of  Madeira  on  a  small  table. 

Rose  and  her  husband  had  their  arms  round  each 
other's  waists,  and  were  kissing  each  other  in  every 
corner.     M.  Sauvetanin  never  took  his  eyes  off  Anna; 


'IHE   ACCURSED    BREAD 


277 


he  no  doubt  felt  that  ardor,  that  sort  of  expectation 
which  all  men,  even  if  they  are  old  and  ugly,  feel 
for  women  of  a  certain  stamp. 

They  sat  down,  and  the  wedding  breakfast  began; 
the  relatives  sitting  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  the 
young  people  at  the  other.  Mme.  Touchard,  the  mother, 
presided  on  the  right  and  the  bride  on  the  left. 
Anna  looked  after  everybody,  saw  that  the  glasses 
were  kept  filled  and  the  plates  well  supplied.  The 
guests  evidently  felt  a  certain  respectful  embarrass- 
ment at  the  sight  of  the  sumptuousness  of  the  rooms 
and  at  the  lavish  manner  in  which  they  were 
treated.  They  all  ate  heartily  of  the  good  things  pro- 
vided, but  there  were  no  jokes  such  as  are  prevalent 
at  weddings  of  that  sort;  it  was  all  too  grand,  and  it 
made  them  feel  uncomfortable.  Old  Madame  Touch- 
ard, who  was  fond  of  a  bit  of  fun,  tried  to  enliven 
matters  a  little,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  dessert 
she  exclaimed:  "1  say,  Philip,  do  sing  us  something." 
The  neighbors  in  their  street  considered  that  he  had 
the  finest  voice  in  all  Havre. 

The  bridegroom  got  up,  smiled,  and  turning  to  his 
sister-in-law,  from  politeness  and  gallantry,  tried  to 
think  of  something  suitable  for  the  occasion,  some- 
thing serious  and  correct,  to  harmonize  with  the  seri- 
ousness of  the  repast. 

Anna  had  a  satisfied  look  on  her  face,  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  to  listen,  and  all  assumed  looks  of 
attention,  though  prepared  to  smile  should  smiles  be 
called  for. 

The  singer  announced,  "The  Accursed  Bread," 
and  extending  his  right  arm,  which  made  his  coat 
ruck  up  into  his  neck,  he  began. 


278  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

It  was  decidedly  long,  three  verses  of  eight  lines 
each,  with  the  last  line  and  the  last  line  but  one  re- 
peated  twice. 

All  went  well  for  the  first  two  verses;  they  were 
the  usual  commonplaces  about  bread  gained  by  honest 
labor  and  by  dishonesty.  The  aunt  and  the  bride  wept 
outright.  The  cook,  who  was  present,  at  the  end  of 
the  first  verse  looked  at  a  roll  which  she  held  in  her 
hand  with  moist  eyes,  as  if  they  applied  to  her, 
while  all  applauded  vigorously.  At  the  end  of  the 
second  verse  the  two  servants,  who  were  standing 
with  their  backs  to  the  wall,  joined  loudly  in  the 
chorus,  and  the  aunt  and  the  bride  wept  outright. 
Daddy  Taille  blew  his  nose  with  the  noise  of  a  trom- 
bone, old  Touchard  brandished  a  whole  loaf  half  over 
the  table,  and  the  cook  shed  silent  tears  on  to  the 
crust  which  she  was  still  holding. 

Amid  the  general  emotion  M.  Sauvetanin  said: 

"That  is  the  right  sort  of  song;  very  different 
to  the  pointed  things  one  generally  hears  at  wed- 
dings." 

Anna,  who  was  visibly  affected,  kissed  her  hand 
to  her  sister  and  pointed  to  her  husband  with  an 
affectionate  nod,  as  if  to  congratulate  her. 

Intoxicated  by  his  success,  the  young  man  con- 
tinued, and  unfortunately  the  last  verse  contained 
words  about  the  bread  of  dishonor  gained  by  young 
girls  who  had  been  led  astray  from  the  paths  of 
virtue.  No  one  took  up  the  refrain  about  this  bread, 
supposed  to  be  eaten  with  tears,  except  old  Touchard 
and  the  two  servants.  Anna  had  ^Town  deadly  pale 
and  cast  down  her  eyes,  while  the  bridegroom  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  without  understanding  the  rea- 


THE   ACCURSED    BREAD  279 

son  for  this  sudden  coldness,  and  the  cook  hastily 
dropped  the  crust  as  if  it  were  poisoned. 

M.  Sauvetanin  said  solemnly,  in  order  to  save  the 
situation:  "That  last  couplet  is  not  at  all  necessary"; 
and  Daddy  Taille,  who  had  got  red  up  to  his  ears, 
looked  round  the  table  fiercely. 

Then  Anna,  with  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears, 
told  the  servants,  in  the  faltering  voice  of  a  woman 
trying  to  stifle  her  sobs,  to  bring  the  champagne. 

All  the  guests  were  suddenly  seized  with  exuber- 
ant joy,  and  their  faces  became  radiant  again.  And 
when  old  Touchard,  who  had  seen,  felt,  and  under- 
stood nothing  of  what  was  going  on,  and,  pointing 
to  the  guests  so  as  to  emphasize  his  words,  sang  the 
last  words  of  the  refrain:  "Children,  1  warn  you  all 
to  eat  not  of  that  bread,"  the  whole  company,  when 
they  saw  the  champagne  bottles  with  their  necks 
covered  with  gold  foil  appear,  burst  out  singing,  as 
if  electrified  by  the  sight: 

"Children,  I  warn  you  all  to  eat  not  of  that  bread." 


MY    TWENTY-FIVE    DAYS 


HAD  just  taken    possession   of  my 
room  in  the  iiotel,  a  narrow  apart- 
ment between   two  papered  parti- 
tions, so  that  I  could  hear  all   the 
sounds  made  by  my  neighbors.     1 
was    beginning   to    arrange   in  the 
glass  cupboard  my  clothes  and  my 
linen,    when    1    opened    the   drawer 
which  was  in  the  middle  of  this  piece 
of  furniture,  I    immediately   noticed    a 
manuscript    of    rolled     paper.      Having 
unrolled   it,    I   spread   it  open  before  me, 
^ly-        and  read  this  title: 
*^  "My  Twenty-five  Days." 

It  was  the  diary  of  a  bather,  of  the  last  occupant 
of  my  room,  and  had  been  left  behind  there  in  forget- 
fulness  at  the  hour  of  departure. 

These  notes  may  be  of  some  interest  to  sensible 
and  healthy  persons  who  never  leave  their  own 
homes.  It  is  for  their  benefit  that  I  here  transcribe 
them  without  altering  a  letter. 

"  Chatel-Guyon,  July  15. 
"At  the  first   glance,  it  is   not   gay,  this   country. 
So,  I    am   going  to   spend   twenty-five   days   here   to 
have   my  liver   and   my   stomach   treated,   and  to  get 
280) 


MY   TWENTY-FIVE   DAYS  28 1 

rid  of  flesh.  The  twenty-five  days  of  a  bather  are 
very  hke  the  twenty-eight  days  of  a  reserviste;  they 
are  all  devoted  to  fatigue-duty,  severe  fatigue-duty. 
To-day,  nothing  as  yet;  I  am  installed;  I  have  made 
the  acquaintance  of  locality  and  the  doctors.  Chatel- 
Guyon  is  composed  of  a  stream  in  which  flows  yellow 
water,  in  the  midst  of  several  mountain-peaks,  where 
are  erected  a  Casino,  houses,  and  stone-crosses.  At 
the  side  of  the  stream,  in  the  depths  of  the  valley, 
may  be  seen  a  square  building  surrounded  by  a  little 
garden:  this  is  the  establishment  of  the  baths.  Sad 
people  wander  around  this  building  —  the  invalids.  A 
great  silence  reigns  in  these  walks  shaded  by  trees,  for 
this  is  not  a  pleasure-station  but  a  true  health-station: 
you  take  care  of  your  health  here  through  conviction, 
but  you  cannot  get  cured,  it  seems. 

"Competent  people  declare  that  the  mineral  springs 
perform  true  miracles  here.  However,  no  votive  offer- 
ing is  hung  around  the  cashier's  office. 

"From  time  to  time,  a  gentleman  or  a  lady  comes 
over  to  a  kiosk  with  a  slate  roof,  which  shelters  a 
woman  of  smiling  and  gentle  aspect  and  a  spring 
boiling  in  a  basin  of  cement.  Not  a  word  is  ex- 
changed between  the  invalid  and  the  female  custodian 
of  the  healing  water.  She  hands  to  the  newcomer  a 
little  glass  in  which  air-bubbles  quiver  in  the  trans- 
parent liquid.  The  other  drinks  and  goes  off  with  a 
grave  step  in  order  to  resume  his  interrupted  walk 
under  the  trees. 

"No  noise  in  the  little  park,  no  breath  of  air  in 
the  leaves,  no  voice  breaks  through  this  silence,  in- 
scribed over  the  entrance  to  this  district  should  be: 
'Here  you  no  longer  laugh;  you  nurse  yourself,' 


282  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"The  people  who  chat  resemble  mutes  who  open 
their  mouths  in  order  to  simulate  sounds,  so  much 
are  they  afraid  of  letting  their  voices  escape. 

"In  the  hotel,  the  same  silence.  It  is  a  big  hotel 
where  you  dine  solemnly  with  people  of  good  posi- 
tion, who  have  nothing  to  say  to  each  other.  Their 
manners  bespeak  good-breeding  and  their  faces  re- 
flect the  conviction  of  a  superiority  of  which  it  would 
be  difficult  to  give  actual  proof. 

"At  two  o'clock,  I  make  my  way  up  to  the 
Casino,  a  little  wooden  hut  perched  on  a  hillock 
to  which  one  climbs  by  paths  frequented  by  goats. 
But  the  view  from  that  height  is  admirable.  Chatel- 
Guyon  is  situated  in  a  very  narrow  valley,  exactly 
between  the  plain  and  the  mountain.  At  the  left  I 
see  the  first  great  waves  of  the  mountains  of  Au- 
vergne  covered  with  woods,  exhibiting  here  and 
there  big  gray  spots,  their  hard  lava-bones,  for  we 
are  at  the  foot  of  the  extinct  volcanoes.  At  the 
right,  through  the  narrow  slope  of  the  valley,  I  dis- 
cover a  plain  infinite  as  the  sea,  steeped  in  a  bluish 
fog  which  lets  one  only  dimly  discern  the  villages, 
the  towns,  the  yellow  fields  of  ripe  corn,  and  the 
green  squares  of  meadow-land  shaded  with  apple- 
trees.  It  is  the  Limagne,  immense  and  flat,  always 
enveloped  in  a  light  veil  of  vapor. 

"The  night  has  come.  And  now,  after  having 
dined  alone,  I  write  these  lines  beside  my  open  win- 
dow. I  hear,  over  there,  in  front  of  me,  the  little 
orchestra  of  the  Casino,  which  plays  airs  just  as  a 
wild  bird  sings  all  alone  in  the  desert. 

"From  time  to  time  a  dog  barks.  This  great  calm 
does  me  good.     Good  night. 


MY  TWENTY-FIVE   DAYS  283 

''July  16.  Nothing.  I  have  taken  a  bath,  or 
rather  a  douche.  I  have  swallowed  three  glasses  of 
water  and  I  have  walked  in  the  pathways  of  the 
park  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  between  each  glass, 
then  half-an-hour  after  the  last.  I  have  begun  my 
twenty-five  days. 

"July  I  J.  Remarked  two  mysterious  pretty 
women  who  are  taking  their  baths  and  their  meals 
after   everyone    else. 

"July  18.     Nothing. 

"July  19.  Saw  the  two  pretty  women  again. 
They  have  style  and  a  little  indescribable  air  which  1 
like  very  much. 

"July  20.  Long  walk  in  a  charming  wooded 
valley  as  far  as  the  Hermitage  of  Sans-Souci.  This 
country  is  delightful  though  sad;  it  is  so  calm,  so 
sweet,  so  green.  Along  the  mountain-roads  you  meet 
the  long  wagons  loaded  with  hay  drawn  by  two  cows 
at  a  slow  pace  or  held  back  in  descending  the  slopes 
by  their  straining  heads,  which  are  tied  together.  A 
man  with  a  big  black  hat  on  his  head  is  driving 
them  with  a  slight  switch,  tipping  them  on  the  side 
or  on  the  forehead;  and  often  with  an  simple  ges- 
ture, a  gesture  energetic  and  grave,  he  suddenly 
draws  them  up  when  the  excessive  load  hastens  their 
journey  down  the  rougher  descents. 

"The  air  is  good  in  these  valleys.  And,  if  it  is 
very  warm,  the  dust  bears  with  it  a  light  odor  of 
vanilla  and  of  the  stable,  for  so  many  cows  pass  over 
these  routes  that  they  leave  a  little  scent  everywhere. 
And  the  odor  is  a  perfume,  whereas  it  would  be  a 
stench  if  it  came  from  other  animals. 

"July  21.     Excursion  to  the  valley  of  the  Enval.     It 


284 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


is  a  narrow  gorge  inclosed  in  superb  rocks  at  the 
very  foot  of  the  mountain.  A  stream  flows  through 
the  space  between  the  heaped-up  bowlders. 

"As  I  reached  the  bottom  of  this  ravine,  I  heard 
women's  voices,  and  I  soon  perceived  the  two  mys- 
terious ladies  of  my  hotel,  who  were  chatting  seated 
on  a  stone. 

"The  occasion  appeared  to  me  a  good  one,  and 
without  hesitation  I  presented  myself.  My  overtures 
were  received  without  embarrassment.  We  walked 
back  together  to  the  hotel.  And  we  talked  about 
Paris.  They  knew,  it  seemed,  many  people  whom 
I  knew  too.     Who  can  they  be  ? 

"I  shall  see  them  to-morrow.  There  is  nothing 
more  amusing  than  such  meetings  as  this. 

''July  22.  Day  almost  entirely  passed  with  the  two 
unknown  ladies.  They  are  very  pretty,  by  Jove,  one 
a  brunette  and  the  other  a  blonde.  They  say  they 
are  widows.     Hum! 

"I  offered  to  accompany  them  in  a  visit  to  Royat 
to-morrow,  and  they  accepted  my  offer. 

"Chatel-Guyon  is  less  sad  than  I  thought  on  my 
arrival. 

''July  2^.  Day  spent  at  Royat.  Royat  is  a  little 
cluster  of  hotels  at  the  bottom  of  a  valley,  at  the  gate 
of  Clermont-Ferrand.  A  great  deal  of  society  there. 
A  great  park  full  of  movement.  Superb  view  of  the 
Puy-de-D6me,  seen  at  the  end  of  a  perspective  of 
vales. 

"I  am  greatly  occupied  with  my  fair  companions, 
which  is  flattering  to  myself.  The  man  who  escorts 
a  pretty  woman  always  believes  himself  crowned  with 
an   aureole, —  with   much   more   reason,  therefore,  the 


MY  TWENTY-FIVE   DAYS  285 

man  who  goes  along  with  one  on  each  side  of  him. 
Nothing  is  so  pleasant  as  to  dine  in  a  restaurant  well 
frequented,  with  a  female  companion  at  whom  every- 
body stares,  and  besides  there  is  nothing  better  cal- 
culated to  set  a  man  up  in  the  estimation  of  his 
neighbors. 

"To  go  to  the  Bois  in  a  trap  drawn  by  a  sorry 
nag,  or  to  go  out  into  the  boulevard  escorted  by  a 
plain  woman,  are  the  two  most  humiliating  accidents 
which  could  strike  a  delicate  heart  preoccupied  with 
the  opinions  of  others.  Of  all  luxuries  woman  is  the 
rarest  and  the  most  distinguished;  she  is  the  one  that 
costs  most,  and  which  we  desire  most;  she  is,  there- 
fore, the  one  that  we  like  best  to  exhibit  under  the 
jealous  eyes  of  the  public. 

"To  show  the  world  a  pretty  woman  leaning  on 
your  arm  is  to  excite,  all  at  once,  every  kind  of  jeal- 
ousy. It  is  as  much  as  to  say:  Look  here!  I  am  rich, 
since  1  possess  this  rare  and  costly  object;  I  have 
taste,  since  I  have  known  how  to  discover  this  pearl; 
perhaps  even  1  am  loved,  unless  I  am  deceived  by 
her,  which  would  still  prove  that  others,  too,  con- 
sider her  charming. 

"But  what  a  disgraceful  thing  it  is  to  bring  an 
ugly  woman  with  you  through  the  city!  And  how 
many  humiliating  things  this  gives  people  to  under- 
stand! 

"In  the  first  place,  they  assume  she  must  be  your 
wife,  for  how  could  it  be  supposed  that  you  would 
have  an  unattractive  mistress  ?  A  real  wife  might  be 
ungraceful;  but  then  her  ugliness  suggests  a  thousand 
things  disagreeable  to  you.  One  supposes  you  must 
be  a  notary  or  a  magistrate,  as  these  two  professions 


286  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

have  a  monopoly  of  grotesque  and  well-dowered 
spouses.  Now,  is  this  not  painful  for  a  man?  And 
then  it  seems  to  proclaim  to  the  public  that  you  have 
the  odious  courage,  and  are  even  under  a  legal  obli- 
gation, to  caress  that  ridiculous  face  and  that  ill- 
shaped  body,  and  that  you  will,  without  doubt,  be 
shameless  enough  to  make  a  mother  of  this  by  no 
means  desirable  being, —  which  is  the  very  height  of 
ridicule. 

''July  24.  I  never  leave  the  side  of  the  two  un- 
known widows,  whom  I  am  beginning  to  know 
well.  This  country  is  delightful  and  our  hotel  is  ex- 
cellent. Good  season.  The  treatment  has  done  me 
an  immense  amount  of  good. 

''July  25.  Drive  in  a  landau  to  the  lake  ot 
Tazenat.  An  exquisite  and  unexpected  party,  decided 
on  at  lunch.  Abrupt  departure  after  getting  up  from 
the  table.  After  a  long  journey  through  the  mountains, 
we  suddenly  perceived  an  admirable  little  lake,  quite 
round,  quite  blue,  clear  as  glass,  and  situated  at  the 
bottom  of  a  dead  crater.  One  edge  of  this  immense 
basin  is  barren,  the  other  is  wooded.  In  the  midst 
of  the  trees  is  a  small  house,  where  sleeps  a  good- 
natured,  intellectual  man,  a  sage  who  passes  his  days 
in  this  Virgilian  region.  He  opens  his  dwelling  for 
us.  An  idea  comes  into  my  head.  I  exclaim:  'Sup- 
pose we  bathe?' 

"'Yes,'  they  said,   'but  —  costumes?' 

"'Bah!  we  are  in  the  desert.' 

"And  we  did  bathe! 

"If  I  were  a  poet,  how  I  would  describe  this  un-. 
forgettable  vision  of  bodies  young  and  naked  in  the 
transparency   of  the   water!     The  sloping   high   sides 


MY  TWENTY-FIVE   DAYS  287 

Shut  in  the  lake,  motionless,  glittering,  and  round, 
iike  a  piece  of  silver;  the  sun  pours  into  it  its  warm 
^ight  in  a  flood;  and  along  the  rocks  the  fair  flesh 
slips  into  the  almost  invisible  wave  in  which  the 
swimmers  seemed  suspended.  On  the  sand  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lake  we  saw  the  shadows  of  the  light 
movements  passing  and  repassing! 

"July  26.  Some  persons  seemed  to  look  with 
shocked  and  disapproving  eyes  at  my  rapid  intimacy 
with  the  two  fair  widows!  Persons  so  constituted 
im.agine  that  life  is  made  for  worrying  oneself. 
Everything  that  appears  to  be  amusing  becomes  im- 
mediately a  breach  of  good-breeding  or  morality. 
For  them  duty  has   inflexible   and   mortally  sad  rules. 

*'I  would  draw  their  attention  with  all  respect  to 
the  fact  that  duty  is  not  the  same  for  Mormons, 
Arabs,  Zulus,  Turks,  Englishmen,  and  Frenchmen; 
and  that  one  will  find  very  virtuous  people  among  all 
these  nations.  As  for  me,  I  take  a  little  of  each  peo- 
ple's notion  of  duty,  and  of  the  whole  I  make  a  re- 
sult comparable  to  the  morality  of  holy  King  Solomon. 

"July  2y.  Good  news.  I  have  grown  620  grams 
thinner.  Excellent,  this  water  of  Chatel-Guyon!  I 
am  bringing  the  widows  to  dine  at  Riom.  Sad  town! 
Its  anagram  constitutes  an  offense  in  the  vicinity  of 
healing  springs:  Riom,  Mori. 

"July  28.  Hoity-toity!  My  two  widows  have 
been  visited  by  two  gentlemen  who  came  to  look  for 
them.  Two  widows,  without  doubt.  They  are  leav- 
ing this  evening.  They  have  written  to  me  on  fancy 
note-paper. 

"July  2g.  Alone!  Long  excursion  on  foot  to  the 
extinct  crater  of  Nackere.     Splendid  view. 


288  WORKS  OF  GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"July  JO.     Nothing,     I   am   taking  the  treatm^j^at. 

"July  3/.  Ditto.  Ditto.  This  pretty  country  is 
full  of  polluted  streams.  I  am  drawing  the  notice  of 
the  municipality  to  the  abominable  sink  which  poi- 
sons the  road  in  front  of  the  hotel.  All  the  re- 
mains of  the  kitchen  of  the  establishment  are  thrown 
into  it.     This  is  a  good  way  to  breed  cholera. 

"August  I.     Nothing.     The  treatment. 

"August  2.  Admirable  walk  to  Chateauneuf,  a  sta- 
tion for  rheumatic  patients  where  everybody  is  lame. 
Nothing  can  be  queerer  than  this  population  of  crip- 
ples! 

"August  J.     Nothing.     The  treatment. 

"August  4.     Ditto.     Ditto. 

"August  5.     Ditto.     Ditto. 

"August  6.  Despair!  I  have  just  weighed  my- 
self 1  have  got  fatter  by  310  grams.  But  what 
then  ? 

"August  7.  66  kilometers  in  a  carriage  in  the 
mountain.  I  will  not  mention  the  name  of  the  coun- 
try through  respect  for  its  women. 

"This  excursion  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  as  a 
beautiful  one,  and  one  that  was  rarely  made.  After 
four  hours  on  the  road  I  arrived  at  a  rather  pretty 
village,  on  the  border  of  a  river  in  the  midst  of  an 
admirable  wood  of  walnut-trees.  I  had  not  yet  seen 
a  forest  of  walnut-trees  of  such  dimensions  in  Au- 
vergne.  It  constitutes,  moreover,  all  the  wealth  of  the 
district,  for  it  is  planted  on  the  common.  This  com- 
mon was  formerly  only  a  hillside  covered  with  brush- 
wood. The  authorities  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  it 
cultivated.  It  was  scarcely  enough  to  feed  a  few 
sheep. 


MY  TWENTY-FIVE   DAYS  289 

"To-day  it  is  a  superb  wood,  thanks  to  the 
women,  and  it  has  a  curious  name:  it  is  called  — 
'the  Sins  of  the  Cure.' 

"Now  it  is  right  to  say  that  the  women  of  the 
mountain  district  have  the  reputation  of  being  light, 
lighter  than  in  the  plain.  A  bachelor  who  meets 
them  owes  them  at  least  a  kiss;  and  if  he  does  not 
take  more,  he  is  only  a  blockhead.  If  we  think 
rightly  on  it,  this  way  of  looking  at  the  matter  is 
the  only  one  that  is  logical  and  reasonable.  As 
woman,  whether  she  be  of  the  town  or  the  country, 
has  for  her  natural  mission  to  please  man,  man 
should  always  prove  that  she  pleases  him.  If  he  ab- 
stains from  every  sort  of  demonstration,  this  means 
that  he  has  found  her  ugly;  it  is  almost  an  insult  to 
her.  If  I  were  a  woman,  I  would  not  receive  a  sec- 
ond time  a  man  who  failed  to  show  me  respect  at 
our  first  meeting,  for  I  would  consider  that  he  had 
failed  to  appreciate  my  beauty,  my  charm,  and  my 
feminine  qualities. 

"So  the  bachelors  of  the  village  X often  proved 

to  the  women  of  the  district  that  they  found  them 
to  their  taste,  and,  as  the  cure  was  unable  to  pre- 
vent these  demonstrations  as  gallant  as  they  were 
natural,  he  resolved  to  utilize  them  for  the  profit  of 
the  natural  prosperity.  So  he  imposed  as  a  penance 
on  every  woman  who  had  gone  wrong  a  walnut  to 
be  planted  on  the  common.  And  every  night  lan- 
terns were  seen  moving  about  like  will-o'-the-wisps 
on  the  hillock,  for  the  erring  ones  scarcely  liked  to 
perform  their  penances  in  broad  daylight. 

"In  two  years  there  was  no  room  any  longer  on 
the  lands   belonging  to   the  village;  and   to-day  they 

5     G    de  M. — 19 


290 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


calculate  that  there  are  more  than  three  thousand 
trees  around  the  belfry  which  rings  for  the  offices 
through  their  foliage.  These  are  'the  Sins  of  the 
Cure.' 

"Since  we  have  been  seeking  for  so  many  plans 
for  rewooding  in  France,  the  Administration  of 
Forests  might  surely  enter  into  some  arrangement 
with  the  clergy  to  employ  a  method  so  simple  as 
that  employed  by  this  humble   cure. 

''August  8.     Treatment. 

"August  g.  I  am  packing  up  my  trunks,  and 
saying  good-bye  to  the  charming  little  district  so 
calm  and  silent,  to  the  green  mountain,  to  the  quiet 
valleys,  to  the  deserted  Casino  from  which  you  can 
see,  almost  veiled  by  its  light,  bluish  mist,  the  im- 
mense plain  of  the  Limagne. 

"I  shall  leave  to-morrow." 

4:  4:  4c  %  :|c  i|e  ))c 

Here  the  manuscript  stopped.  I  wish  to  add 
nothing  to  it,  my  impressions  of  the  country  not 
having  been  exactly  the  same  as  those  of  my  prede- 
cessor.    For  I  did  not  find  the  two  widows! 


A    LUCKY    BURGLAR 


HEY  were  seated   in   the  dining-room 
of  a  hotel  in  Barbizon. 

"I    tell    you,    you    will    not    be- 
lieve it." 

"Well,  tell  it  anyhow." 
"All    right,  here   goes.     But   first  I 
must   tell   you   that    my  story  is   abso- 
lutely   true    in    every    respect;    even    if 
^i  it    does    sound    improbable."     And    the 
^;^^^  old  artist  commenced: 

^^^      "We    had    dined    at    Soriel's     that     night. 
«t^  When    I   say   dined,  that    means   that   we    were 
<^     all    pretty    well    tipsy.     We    were    three    young 
^,  madcaps.     Soriel  (poor  fellow!  he  is  dead  now), 
f     Le    Poittevin,   the    marine    painter,    and    myself. 
Le  Poittevin  is  dead,  also. 

"We  had  stretched  ourselves  on  the  floor  of  the 
little  room  adjoining  the  studio  and  the  only  one  in 
the  crowd  who  was  rational  was  Le  Poittevin.  Soriel, 
who  was  always  the  maddest,  lay  flat  on  his  back, 
with  his  feet  propped  up  on  a  chair,  discussing  war 
and  the  uniforms  of  the  Empire,  when,  suddenly,  he 
got  up,  took  out  of  the  big  wardrobe  where  he  kept 
his  accessories  a  complete  hussar's  uniform  and  put 
it  on.     He   then   took   out    a   grenadier's  uniform  and 

(2QI) 


293 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


told  Le  Poittevin  to  put  it  on;  but  he  objected,  so  we 
forced  him  into  it.  It  was  so  big  for  him  that  he 
was  completely  lost  in  it.  I  arrayed  myself  as  a  cui- 
rassier. After  we  were  ready,  Soriel  made  us  go 
through  a  complicated  drill.  Then  he  exclaimed:  'As 
long  as  we  are  troopers  let  us  drink  like  troopers.' 

"The  punch-bowl  had  been  brought  out  and  filled 
for  the  second  time.  We  were  bawling  some  old 
camp  songs  at  the  top  of  our  voice,  when  Le  Poitte- 
vin, who  in  spite  of  all  the  punch  h?d  retained  his 
self-control,  held  up  his  hand  and  said:  'Hush!  I 
am  sure  1  heard  some  one  walking  in  the  studio.' 

"'A  burglar!'  said  Soriel,  staggering  to  his  feet. 
'Good  luck!'  And  he  began  the  'Marseillaise': 

"'To  arms,  citizens!' 

"Then  he  seized  several  weapons  from  the  wall 
and  equipped  us  according  to  our  uniforms.  I  re- 
ceived a  musket  and  a  saber.  Le  Poittevin  was 
handed  an  enormous  gun  with  a  bayonet  attached. 
Soriel,  not  finding  just  what  he  wanted,  seized  a  pis- 
tol, stuck  it  in  his  belt,  and  brandishing  a  battle-axe 
in  one  hand,  he  opened  the  studio  door  cautiously. 
The  army  advanced.  Having  reached  the  middle  of 
the  room  Soriel  said: 

"'I  am  general.  You  [pointing  to  me],  the  cui- 
rassiers, will  keep  the  enemy  from  retreating  —  that 
is,  lock  the  door.  You  [pointing  to  Le  Poittevin], 
the  grenadiers,  will  be  my  escort.' 

"I  executed  my  orders  and  rejoined  the  troops, 
who  were  behind  a  large  screen  reconnoitering.  Just 
as  I  reached  it  I  heard  a  terrible  noise.  I  rushed  up 
with  the  candle  to  investigate  the  cause  of  it  and  this 


A    LUCKY   BURGLAR 


293 


is  what  I  saw,  Le  Poittevin  was  piercing  the  dummy's 
breast  with  his  bayonet  and  Soriel  was  splitting  his 
head  open  with  his  axe!  When  the  mistake  had  been 
discovered  the  General  commanded:   'Be  cautious!' 

"We  had  explored  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
studio  for  the  past  twenty  minutes  without  success, 
when  Le  Poittevin.  thought  he  would  look  in  the 
cupboard.  As  it  was  quite  deep  and  very  dark,  1 
advanced  with  the  candle  and  looked  in.  I  drew 
back  stupefied.  A  man,  a  real  live  man  this  time, 
stood  there  looking  at  me!  I  quickly  recovered  my- 
self, however,  and  locked  the  cupboard  door.  We 
then  retired  a  few  paces  to  hold  a  council. 

"  Opinions  were  divided.  Soriel  wanted  to  smoke 
the  burglar  out;  Le  Poittevin  suggested  starvation, 
and  I  proposed  to  blow  him  up  with  dynamite.  Le 
Poittevin's  idea  being  finally  accepted  as  the  best,  we 
proceed  to  bring  the  punch  and  pipes  into  the  studio, 
while  Le  Poittevin  kept  guard  with  his  big  gun  on 
his  shoulder,  and  settling  ourselves  in  front  of  the 
cupboard  we  drank  the  prisoner's  health.  We  had 
done  this  repeatedly,  when  Soriel  suggested  that  we 
bring  out  the  prisoner  and  take  a  look  at  him. 

"'Hooray!'  cried  1.  We  picked  up  our  weapons 
and  made  a  mad  rush  for  the  cupboard  door.  It  was 
finally  opened,  and  Soriel,  cocking  his  pistol  which 
was  not  loaded,  rushed  in  first.  Le  Poittevin  and  1 
followed  yelling  like  lunatics  and,  after  a  mad  scram- 
ble in  the  dark,  we  at  last  brought  out  the  burglar. 
He  was  a  haggard-looking,  white-haired  old  bandit, 
with  shabby,  ragged  clothes.  We  bound  him  hand 
and  foot  and  dropped  him  in  an  armchair.  He  said 
nothing. 


294 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


"  'We  will  try  this  wretch'  said  Soriel,  whom  the 
punch  had  made  very  solemn.  I  was  so  far  gone 
that  it  seemed  to  me  quite  a  natural  thing.  Le  Poitte- 
vin  was  named  for  the  defense  and  I  for  the  prosecu- 
tion. The  prisoner  was  condemned  to  death  by  all 
except  his  counsel. 

"'We  v/ill  now  execute  him,'  said  Soriel.  'Still, 
this  man  cannot  die  without  repenting,'  he  added, 
feeling  somewhat  scrupulous.  '  Let  us  send  for  a 
priest.' 

"I  objected  that  it  was  too  late,  so  he  proposed 
that  I  officiate  and  forthwith  told  the  prisoner  to  con- 
fess his  sins  to  me.  The  old  man  was  terrified.  He 
wondered  what  kind  of  wretches  we  were  and  for 
the  first  time  he  spoke.  His  voice  was  hollow  and 
cracked : 

"'Say,  you  don't  mean  it,  do  you.?' 

"Soriel  forced  him  to  his  knees,  and  for  fear  he 
had  not  been  baptized,  poured  a  glass  of  rum  over 
his  head,  saying:  'Confess  your  sins;  your  last  hour 
has  come!' 

"'Help!  Help!'  screamed  the  old  man  rolling 
himself  on  the  floor  and  kicking  everything  that  came 
his  way.  For  fear  he  should  wake  the  neighbors  we 
gagged  him. 

"'Come,  let  us  end  this';  said  Soriel  impatiently. 
He  pointed  his  pistol  at  the  old  man  and  pressed  the 
trigger.  I  followed  his  example,  but  as  neither  of 
our  guns  were  loaded  we  made  very  little  noise.  Le 
Poittevin,  who  had  been  looking  on  said: 

"  'Have  we  really  the  right  to  kill  this  man?' 

"'We  have  condemned  him  to  death!'  said  So- 
rieL 


A   LUCKY   BURGLAR 


295 


"'Yes,  but  we  have  no  right  to  shoot  a  civilian. 
Let  us  take  him  to  the  station-house.' 

"We  agreed  with  him,  and  as  the  old  man  could 
not  walk  we  tied  him  to  a  board,  and  Le  Poittevin 
and  I  carried  him,  while  Soriel  kept  guard  in  the 
rear.  We  arrived  at  the  station-house.  The  chief, 
who  knew  us  and  was  well  acquainted  with  our 
manner  of  joking,  thought  it  was  a  great  lark  and 
laughingly  refused  to  take  our  prisoner  in.  Soriel  in- 
sisted, but  the  chief  told  us  very  sternly  to  quit  our 
fooling  and  go  home  and  be  quiet.  There  was  noth- 
ing else  to  do  but  to  take  him  back  to  Soriel's. 

"'What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him.^'  I  asked. 

"'The  poor  man  must  be  awfully  tired!'  said  Le 
Poittevin,  sympathizingly. 

"He  did  look  half  dead,  and  in  my  turn  I  felt  a 
sudden  pity  for  him  (the  punch,  no  doubt),  and  I 
relieved  him  of  his  gag. 

"'How  do  you  feel  old  man?'  I  asked. 

"'By  Jingo!  I  have  enough  of  this,'  he  groaned. 

"Then  Soriel  softened.  He  unbound  him  and 
treated  him  as  a  long-lost  friend.  The  three  of  us 
immediately  brewed  a  fresh  bowl  of  punch.  As  soon 
as  it  was  ready  we  handed  a  glass  to  the  prisoner, 
who  quaffed  it  without  flinching.  Toast  followed 
toast.  The  old  man  could  drink  more  than  the  three 
of  us  put  together;  but  as  daylight  appeared,  he  got 
up  and  calmly  said:  'I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  you; 
I  must  get  home  now.' 

"We  begged  him  not  to  go,  but  he  positively  re- 
fused to  stay  any  longer.  We  were  awfully  sorry  and 
took  him  to  the  door,  while  Soriel  held  the  candle 
above  his  head  saying:  'Look  out  for  the  last  step.'" 


AN    ODD    FEAST 


T  WAS  in  the  winter  of — I  do  not 
remember  wliat  year,  that  I  went 
to  Normandy  to  visit  my  bachelor 
.^  cousin,  Jules  de  Banneville,  who  lived 
alone  in  the  old  manor,  with  a  cook, 
a  valet,  and  a  keeper.  I  had  the  hunt- 
ing fever  and  for  a  month  did  nothing 
else  from  morning  until  night. 
The  castle,  an  old,  gray  building  sur-. 
/  rounded  with  pines  and  avenues  of  tall  oak- 
trees,  looked  as  if  it  had  been  deserted  for 
centuries.  The  antique  furniture  and  the  por-. 
traits  of  Jules's  ancestors  were  the  only  inhabit 
>  tants  of  the  spacious  rooms  and  halls  now  closed. 
We  had  taken  shelter  in  the  only  habitable  room, 
an  immense  kitchen,  which  had  been  plastered  all 
over  to  keep  the  rats  out.  The  big,  white  walls 
were  covered  with  whips,  guns,  horns,  etc.,  and  in 
the  large  fireplace  a  brushwood  fire  was  burning, 
throwing  strange  lights  around  the  corners  of  the 
dismal  room.  We  would  sit  in  front  of  the  fire  every 
night,  our  hounds  stretched  in  every  available  space 
(296) 


AN   ODD   FEAST  297 

between  our  feet,  dreaming  and  barking  in  their  sleep, 
until,  getting  drowsy,  we  would  climb  to  our  rooms 
and  slip  into  our  beds  shivering. 

It  had  been  freezing  hard  that  day  and  we  were 
sitting  as  usual  in  front  of  the  fire,  watching  a  hare 
and  two  partridges  being  roasted  for  dinner,  and  the 
savory  smell  sharpened  our  appetites. 

"It  will  be  awfully  cold  going  to  bed  to-night," 
said  Jules. 

"Yes,  but  there  will  be  plenty  of  ducks  to-morrow 
morning,"  I  replied  indifferently. 

The  servant  had  set  our  plates  at  one  end  of  the 
table  and  those  of  the  servants  at  the  other. 

"Gentlemen,  do  you  know  it  is  Christmas  eve?" 
she  asked. 

We  certainly  did  not;  we  never  looked  at  the  cal- 
endar. 

"That  accounts  for  the  bells  ringing  all  day,"  said 
Jules.     "There  is  midnight  service  to-night." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  they  also  rang  because  old  Fournel 
is  dead." 

Fournel  was  an  old  shepherd,  well  known  in  the 
country.  He  was  ninety-six  years  old  and  had  never 
known  a  day's  sickness  until  a  month  ago,  when  he 
had  taken  cold  by  falling  into  a  pool  on  a  dark  night 
and  had  died  of  the  consequences. 

"If  you  like,"  said  Jules,  "we  will  go  and  see 
these  poor  people  after  dinner." 

The  old  man's  family  consisted  of  his  grandson, 
fifty-eight  years  old  and  the  hitter's  wife,  one  year 
younger.  His  children  had  died  years  ago.  They 
lived  in  a  miserable  hut  at  the  entrance  of  the  vil- 
lage. 


298  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

Perhaps  Christmas  eve  in  a  lonely  castle  was  an 
incentive,  at  all  events  we  were  very  talkative  that 
night.  Our  dinner  had  lasted  way  into  the  night  and 
long  after  the  servant  had  left  us,  we  sat  there 
smoking  pipe  after  pipe,  narrating  old  experiences, 
telling  of  past  revels  and  the  surprises  of  the  morrow 
which  followed  our  adventures.  Our  solitude  had 
brought  us  closer  together  and  we  exchanged  those 
confidences  which  only  intimate  friends  can. 

"1  am  going  to  church,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  re- 
appearing. 

"What,  so  soon!"  exclaimed  Jules. 

"It  lacks  only  a  quarter  of  twelve,  sir." 

"Let  us  go  to  church  too,"  said  Jules.  "The 
midnight  service  is  very  attractive  in  the  country." 

I  assented  and  having  wrapped  ourselves  up  we 
started  for  the  village.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  but  a 
clear,  beautiful  night.  We  could  hear  the  peasants' 
wooden  shoes  on  the  crisp,  frozen  earth  and  the 
church  bell  ringing  in  the  distance.  The  road  was 
dotted  here  and  there  with  dancing  lights.  It  was 
the  peasants  carrying  lanterns,  lighting  the  way  for 
their  wives  and  children.  As  we  approached  the 
village,  Jules  said: 

"Here  is  where  the  Fournels  live,  let  us  go  in." 

We  knocked  repeatedly,  but  in  vain.  A  neighbor- 
ing peasant  informed  us  that  they  had  gone  to  church 
to  pray  for  their  father. 

"We  will  see  them  on  our  way  back,"  said 
Jules. 

The  service  had  begun  when  we  entered  the 
church.  It  was  profusely  decorated  with  small  can- 
dles, and  to  the  left,  in   a   small  chapel,  the   birth    of 


AN   ODD    FEAST  299 

Christ  was  represented  by  wax  figures,  pine  brusii 
forming  a  background.  The  men  stood  with  bowed 
heads,  and  the  women,  kneeling,  clasped  their  hands 
in  deep  devotion.     After  a  few  minutes  Jules  said: 

"It  is  stifling  in  here,  let  us  go  outside." 
We  left  the  shivering  peasants  to  their  devotions 
and  regaining  the  deserted  road,  we  resumed  our 
conversation.  We  had  talked  so  long  that  the  service 
was  over  when  we  came  back  to  the  village.  A 
small  ray  of  light  filtered  through  the  Fournels'  door. 

"They  are  watching  their  dead,"  said  Jules.  "They 
will  be  pleased  to  see  us." 

We  went  in.  The  low,  dark  room  was  lighted 
only  by  a  smoking  candle,  placed  in  the  middle  of 
the  large,  coarse  table,  under  which  a  bread  bin  had 
been  built,  taking  up  the  whole  length  of  it.  A  suf- 
focating odor  of  roasted  blood  pudding  pervaded 
every  corner  of  the  room.  Seated  face  to  face,  were 
Fournel  and  his  wife,  a  gloomy  and  brutish  expres- 
sion on  their  faces.  Between  the  two,  a  single  plate 
of  the  pudding,  the  popular  dish  on  Christmas  eve, 
out  of  which  they  would  take  turns  in  cutting  a 
piece  off,  spread  it  on  their  bread  and  munch  in  si- 
lence. When  the  man's  glass  was  empty,  the  woman 
would  fill  it  out  of  an  earthen  jar  containing  cider. 

They  asked  us  to  be  seated  and  to  "join  them," 
but  at  our  refusal  they  continued  to  munch.  After  a 
few  minutes'  silence  Jules  said: 

"Well,  Anthime,  so  your  grandfather  is  dead!  " 

"Yes,  sir,  he  died  this  afternoon." 

The  woman  snuffed  the  candle  in  silence  and  1> 
for  the  want  of  something  to  say,  added: 

"He  was  quite  old,  was  he  not?" 


300 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"Oh,  his  time  was  up,"  she  answered;  "he  was 
no  earthly  use  here." 

An  invincible  desire  to  see  the  old  man  took  pos- 
session of  me  and  1  asked  to  see  him.  The  two 
peasants  suddenly  became  agitated  and  exchanged 
questioning  glances.  Jules  noticed  this  and  insisted. 
Then  the  man  with  a  sly,  suspicious  look,  asked: 

"What  good  would  it  do  you.?" 

"No  good,"  said  Jules;  "but  why  will  you  not 
let  us  see  him  ?" 

"I  am  willing,"  said  the  man,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders,   "but  it  is  kind  of  unhandy  just  now." 

We  conjectured  all  sorts  of  things.  Neither  of 
them  stirred.  They  sat  there  with  eyes  lowered,  a 
sullen  expression  on  their  faces  seeming  to  say:  "Go 
away." 

"Come,  Anthime,  take  us  to  his  room,"  said  Jules 
with  authority. 

"It's  no  use,  my  good  sir,  he  isn't  there  any 
more,"  said  the  man  resolutely. 

"Where  is  he?"  said  Jules. 

The  woman  interrupted,  saying: 

"You  see,  -sir,  we  had  no  other  place  to  put  him 
so  we  put  him  in  the  bin  until  morning."  And  hav- 
ing taken  the  top  of  the  table  off,  she  held  the  candle 
near  the  opening.  We  looked  in  and  sure  enough, 
there  he  was,  a  shriveled  gray  mass,  his  gray  hair 
matted  about  his  face,  barefooted  and  rolled  up  in 
his  shepherd's  cloak,  sleeping  his  last  sleep  among 
crusts  of  bread  as  ancient  as  himself. 

His  grandchildren  had  used  as  a  table  the  bin 
which  held  his  body! 

Jules  was  indignant,  and  pale  with  anger,  said: 


AN   ODD   FEAST  30I 

"You  villians!  Why  did  you  not  leave  him  in 
his  bed  ?" 

The  woman  burst  into  tears  and  speaking  rapidly: 

"You  see,  my  good  gentlemen,  it's  just  this  way. 
We  have  but  one  bed,  and  being  only  three  we  slept 
together;  but  since  he's  been  so  sick  we  slept  on  the 
floor.  The  floor  is  awful  hard  and  cold  these  days, 
my  good  gentlemen,  so  when  he  died  this  afternoon 
we  said  to  ourselves:  'As  long  as  he  is  dead  he 
doesn't  feel  anything  and  what's  the  use  of  leaving 
him  in  bed?  He'll  be  just  as  comfortable  in  the  bin.' 
We  can't  sleep  with  a  dead  man,  my  good  gentle- 
men!—  now  can  we.?" 

Jules  was  exasperated  and  went  out  banging  the 
door,  and  I  after  him,  laughing  myself  sick. 


SYMPATHY 


E  WAS  going  up  the  Rue  des  Mar- 
tyrs  in    a    melancholy   frame    ol 
mind,  and  in  a  melancholy  frame 
of    mind  she    also  was  going  up 
the    Rue    des    Martyrs.      He    was 
already    old,    nearly   sixty,    with   a 
bald  head   under   his  seedy  tall  hat, 
a   gray  beard,  half  buried   in   a   high 
shirt  collar,  with  dull  eyes,  an  unpleas- 
ant mouth,  and  yellow  teeth. 
J    '  y^^y  She  was  past  forty,  with  thin  hair  over 

^^"yCli^^L    _    her  puffs,  and  with  a  false  plait;  her  linen 
,    was    doubtful    in    color,  and    she    had    evi- 
dently bought    her   unfashionable    dress   at  a 
hand-me-down    shop.     He   was   thin,   while    she    was 
chubby.      He     had    been    handsome,    proud,    ardent, 
full     of    self-confidence,    certain     of    his    future,    and 
seeming   to    hold    in    his   hands   all   the    trumps  with 
which  to  win  the  game  on  the  green  table  of  Pari- 
sian   life,    while    she    had   been    pretty,   sought    after, 
fast,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  have  horses  and  carriages, 
and  to   win  the  first   prize   on  the  turf  of  gallantry 
among  the  favorites  of  fortune. 
(302) 


SYMPATHY 


303 


At  times,  in  his  dark  moments,  he  remembered 
the  time  when  he  had  come  to  Paris  from  the 
country,  with  a  volume  of  poetry  and  plays  in  his 
portmanteau,  feehng  a  supreme  contempt  for  all  the 
writers  who  were  then  in  vogue,  and  sure  of  sup- 
planting them.  She  often,  when  she  awoke  in  the 
morning  to  another  day's  unhappiness,  remembered 
that  happy  time  when  she  had  been  launched  on  to 
the  world,  when  she  already  saw  that  she  was  more 
sought  after  than  Marie  G.  or  Sophie  N.  or  any  other 
woman  of  that  class,  who  had  been  her  companions 
in  vice,  and  whose  lovers  she  had  stolen  from  them. 

He  had  had  a  splendid  start.  Not,  indeed,  as  a 
poet  and  dramatist,  as  he  had  hoped  at  first,  but 
by  a  series  of  scandalous  stories  which  had  made 
a  sensation  on  the  boulevards,  so  that  after  an  action 
for  damages  and  several  duels,  he  had  become  "our 
witty  and  brilliant  colleague  who,  etc.,  etc." 

She  had  had  her  moments  of  extraordinary  good 
luck,  though'  she  certainly  did  not  eclipse  Marie  P.  or 
Camille  L.,whom  men  compared  to  Zenobia  or  Ninon 
de  I'Enclos.  Still  her  fortune  caused  her  to  be  talked 
about  in  the  newspapers,  and  brought  about  a  revo- 
lution at  certain  tables  d'hote  in  Montmartre.  But  one 
fine  day,  the  newspaper  in  which  our  brilliant  and 
witty  colleague  used  to  write  became  defunct,  hav- 
ing been  killed  by  a  much  more  cynical  rival,  thanks 
to  the  venomous  pen  of  a  much  more  brilliant  and 
witty  colleague.  Then,  the  insults  of  the  former 
having  become  pure  and  simple  mud-pelting,  his 
style  soon  became  worn  out,  to  the  disgust  of  the 
public,  and  the  celebrated  "Mr.  What's-his-name" 
had   great    difficulty   in    getting    on    to   some    minor 


304 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


paper,  where  he  was  transformed  into  the  obscure 
penny-a-liner  "Machin." 

Now  one  evening  the  quasi-rival  of  Marie  P.  and 
Camille  L.  had  fallen  ill,  and  consequently  into  pecun- 
iary difficulties,  and  the  prostitute  "  No-matter-who "' 
was  now  on  the  lookout  for  a  dinner,  and  would 
have  been  only  too  happy  to  get  it  at  some  table 
d'hote  in  Montmartre.  Machin  had  had  a  return  of 
ambition  with  regard  to  his  poetry  and  his  dramas, 
but  then,  his  verses  of  former  days  had  lost  their 
freshness,  and  his  youthful  dramas  appeared  to  him 
to  be  childish.  He  would  have  to  write  others,  and, 
by  Jove!  he  felt  himself  capable  of  doing  it,  for  he 
had  plenty  of  ideas  and  plans  in  his  head,  and  he 
could  easily  demolish  many  successful  writers  if  he 
chose  to  try!  But  then,  the  difficulty  was,  how  to 
set  about  it,  and  to  find  the  necessary  leisure  and 
time  for  thought.  He  had  his  daily  bread  to  gain, 
and  something  besides;  his  coffee,  his  game  of  cards 
and  other  little  requirements,  and  the  incessant  writ- 
ing article  upon  article  barely  sufficed  for  that,  and  so 
days  and  years  went  by,  and  Machin  was  Machin  still. 

She  also  longed  for  former  years,  and  surely  it 
could  not  be  so  very  hard  to  find  a  lover  to  start  her 
on  her  career  once  more,  for  many  of  her  female 
friends,  who  were  not  nearly  so  nice  as  she,  had  un- 
earthed one,  so  why  should  not  she  be  equally  for- 
tunate ?  But  there,  her  youth  had  gone  and  she  had 
lost  all  her  chances;  other  women  had  their  fancy 
men,  and  she  had  to  take  men  on  every  day  at  re- 
duced prices,  and  so  day  after  day  and  months  and 
years  passed,  and  the  prostitute  No-matter-who  had 
remained  the  prostitute  No-matter-who. 


SYMPATHY 


30s 


Often,  in  a  fit  of  despondency,  he  used  to  say  to 
himself,  thinking  of  some  one  who  had  succeeded  in 
hfe:     "But,  after  all,  I  am  cleverer  than  that  fellow," 

And  she  always  said  to  herself,  when  she  got  up 
to  her  miserable,  daily  round,  when  she  thought  of 
such  and  such  a  woman,  who  was  now  settled  in 
life:  "In  what  respect  is  that  slut  better  than  1  am?" 

And  Machin,  who  was  nearly  sixty,  and  whose 
head  was  bald  under  his  shabby  tall  hat,  and  whose 
gray  beard  was  half  buried  in  a  high  shirt  collar,  who 
had  dull  eyes,  an  unpleasant  mouth,  and  yellow  teeth, 
was  mad  with  his  fellow-men,  while  the  prostitute 
No-matter-who,  with  thin  hair  over  her  puffs,  and 
with  a  false  plait,  with  linen  of  a  doubtful  color, 
and  with  her  unfashionable  dress,  which  she  had 
evidently  bought  at  a  hand-me-down  shop,  was  en- 
raged with  society. 

Ah!  Those  miserable,  dark  hours,  and  the  wretched 
awakenings!  That  evening  he  was  more  than  usually 
wretched,  as  he  had  just  lost  all  his  pay  for  the  next 
month,  that  miserable  stipend  which  he  earned  so 
hardly  by  almost  editing  the  newspaper,  for  three 
hundred  francs*  a  month,  in  a  brothel. 

And  she,  too,  that  evening,  was  in  a  state  of 
semi-stupidity,  as  she  had  had  too  many  glasses  of 
beer,  which  a  charitable  female  friend  had  given  her. 
She  was  almost  afraid  to  go  back  to  her  room,  as 
her  landlord  had  told  her  in  the  morning  that  unless 
she  paid  the  fortnight's  back  rent  that  she  owed  at 
the  rate  of  a  franc  a  day,  he  would  turn  her  out  of 
doors  and  keep  her  things. 


*|6o. 

%    C.  de  M.— 20 


3o6 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 


This  was  the  reason  why  they  were  both  going 
up  the  Rue  des  Martyrs  in  a  melancholy  frame  of 
mind.  There  was  scarcely  a  soul  in  the  muddy 
streets;  it  was  getting  dark  and  beginning  to  rain, 
and  the  drains  smelt  horribly. 

He  passed  her,  and  in  a  mechanical  voice  she  said: 
"Will  you  not  come  home  with  me,  you  handsome, 
dark  man.?" 

"I  have  no  money,"  he  replied. 

But  she  ran  after  him,  and  catching  hold  of  his 
arm,  she  said:     "Only  a  franc;  that  is  nothing." 

And  he  turned  round,  looked  at  her,  and  seeing 
that  she  must  have  been  pretty,  and  that  she  was 
still  stout  (and  he  was  fond  of  fat  women),  he  said: 
"Where  do  you  live?    Near  here?" 

"In  the  Rue  Lepic." 

"Why!     So  do  I." 

"Then  that  is  all  right,  eh?  Come  along,  old  fel- 
low." 

He  felt  in  his  pockets  and  pulled  out  all  the  money 
he  found  there,  which  amounted  to  thirteen  sous,* 
and  said:     "That  is  all  1  have,  upon  my  honor!" 

"All  right,"  she  said;  "come  along," 

And  they  continued  their  melancholy  walk  along 
the  Rue  des  Martyrs,  side  by  side  now,  but  without 
speaking,  and  without  guessing  that  their  two  exist- 
ences harmonized  and  corresponded  with  each  other, 
and  that  by  huddling  up  together,  they  would  be 
iTierely  accomplishing  the  acme  of  their  twin  destinies. 


*  Thirteen  cents. 


jULOT'S    OPINION 


jg^-^tfe  ^T'^HE    Duchess    Huguette   de    Lionzac 

^*r_A-^ I         was    very   much    infatuated    with 

A        herself,  but  then  she  had  a  perfect 

right   to  be,  for  who,  in   her   place, 

would   not    have   shown    a    spice   of 

conceit  ?    There  was    no   success    she 

had  wished  for  that  she  had  not  attained. 

She    had    received   a   medal   for   sculpture 

at    the   Salon,  and  at    the    Exhibition   des 

Excessives,  she    had   shown    a   water-color 

which  looked  eccentric  even  there. 

She  had  published  a  collection  of  poems 
which  was  crowned  by  the  French  Academy, 
and  a  small  volume  of  "Rhythmic  Prose"  of 
which  the  "Revue  de  Demain"  said  that  it  showed 
"a  most  subtle  and  evanescent  execution  of  fugitive 
pieces  and  was  sure  to  descend  to  posterity.''  When 
she  acted  in  private  theatricals,  some  exclaimed:  "R 
is  better  than  the  'Comedie  Frangaise,'"  while  others, 
who  were  more  refined,  went  so  far  as  to  utter  the 
supreme  praise:  "Better  than  the  'Theatre  Libre.'" 
At  one  time  there  had  been  a  report,  which  had 
Deen    propaj^ated    by   the   newspapers,    that   she   was 

(307) 


::o8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

going  to  come  out  at  the  "Opera  Comique,"  in  a  part 
that  had  been  written  especially  for  her  extraordinary 
voice,  for  it  appeared  that  Massenet  would  not  hear 
of  anybody  else  for  the  part. 

She  was  the  circus-rider,  Miss  Edith,  who,  under 
that  assumed  name,  gave  a  unique  and  never-to-be- 
forgotten  exhibition  of  horsemanship.  What  cheers 
there  were,  and  what  quantities  of  flowers  covered 
the  arena!  And  one  must  not  forget  that  this  was 
before  a  paying  public! 

Then,  it  was  notorious  that  she  had  carried  off 
the  lovers  of  several  celebrated  courtesans,  which 
was  not  one  of  the  smallest  of  her  triumphs,  for  she 
had  chosen  as  her  rivals  some  of  those  terrible  and 
hitherto   unconquered  women,  of  whom  it  was  said: 

"Oh  !  When  she  has  got  hold  of  a  man,  she  does 
not  let  him  go  again.  She  has  some  secrets  that 
attach  them  to  her." 

There  was,  therefore,  nothing  surprising  in  the 
fact,  that  the  Duchess  Huguette  should  have  been  so 
proud  of  so  many  victories,  and  in  such  various 
sports;  but  now,  for  the  first  time,  a  doubt  had  en- 
tered her  mind.  In  turning  over  the  "Notules  Psy- 
chologiques "  *  of  her  favorite  novel-writer,  she  had 
just  read  these  two  sentences,  which  disturbed  her: 

"If  anyone  wishes  to  excel  in  an  art,  he  must  have 
gained  a  living  by  it." 

"What  pleases  us  in  a  woman  of  the  world  who 
gives  herself  up  to  debauchery,  is  the  contrast  be- 
tween what  she  is  and  what   she  would  like   to  be." 

And   she   asked    herself,  whether  she   could   really 


Psychological  Notes, 


JULOT'S  OPINION  309 

have  lived  by  those  arts  in  which  she  excelled,  and 
whether  the  successes  that  she  had  obtained  did  not 
chiefly  depend  on  her  charm  of  a  woman  of  the 
world,  who  wished  to  be  what  she  was  not.  The 
last  whether,  especially,  made  her  anxious.  For  was 
not  it  precisely  that  special  charm  which  had  given 
her  an  advantage  over  courtesans  who  employed 
secrets. 

Would  she  have  been  victorious  if  she  had  been 
deprived  of  that   weapon?     How   could  she  find  out.^ 

"And  yet,"  she  said  to  herself,  "1  must  know,  for 
everything  depends  on  this  point.  If  I  can  win  the 
game  without  playing  that  card,  I  am  sure  of  all  my 
other  triumphs,  my  mind  will  be  easy  then,  whatever 
it  may  cost." 

She  consulted  her  old  godfather,  Viscount  Hugues 
de  Pierras,  on  the  subject,  and,  after  a  few  compli- 
mentary words,  as  she  had  begged  him  to  be  sincere, 
he  said: 

"Good  heavens!  my  dear  child,  I  must  confess 
that  your  psychologist  is  not  altogether  wrong,  nor 
your  apprehensions  either.  I  have  before  now  left 
many  learned  mistresses  for  women  who  were  not  in 
the  least  learned,  and  who  pleased  me  all  the  better 
on  that  account.  But  that  did  not  prevent  the  mis- 
tresses I  had  sacrificed  from  being  women  of  incom- 
prehensible talents  in  spite  of  their  defeat.  But  what 
does  that  matter?  It  ought  to  be  enough  for  you 
that  you  conquer,  without  troubling  yourself  about 
the  means  by  which  you  obtain  your  victory.  I  do 
!iot  suppose  that  you  have  any  pretensions  to  being 
a  mrtuosa  in  —  " 

*'  In    everything,    yes.     Excuse     me    godfather,    I 


3IO 


WORKS   OF    GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


have  such  pretensions.  And  what  I  ask  of  you,  is 
the  means  of  obtaining  absolute  proof  that  my  pre- 
tensions are  justified." 

"Hum!  Hum!"  the  Viscount  said,  in  some  em- 
barrassment, "  I  do  not  know  of  any  means,  my  dear 
child,  unless  we  get  together  a  jury." 

"Please  do  not  joke  about  it!  "  Huguette  exclaimed, 

"I  am  perfectly  serious." 

"  I  am  very  serious  also,  I  assure  you,  I  think  that 
a  jury  —  " 

"Composed  of  whom?  Of  men  of  the  world,  I 
suppose?  commonly  called  Fine  Gueule."  * 

"And  what  does  this  Julot  do?" 

"Oh!  really,  Duchess,  you  force  me  to  speak  of 
persons  and  things,  which  —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  1  force  you  to;  we  understand  that. 
But  tell  me!  Bluntly,  without  mincing  matters,  if 
necessary.  You  know  that  I  have  no  objection  to 
that  sort  of  thing,  so  go  on.  Do  not  keep  me  in 
suspense  like  this.  1  am  burning  with  curiosity. 
What  does  Julot  do?" 

"Very  well,  little  volunteer,  if  you  insist  on 
knowing,  1  will  tell  you.  Julot,  generally  called  Fine 
Giieule,  is  a  trier  of  women." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"I  will  explain  it  to  you.  There  are  a  few  of  us 
old  amateurs  in  Paris,  who  are  too  old  and  impatient 
to  hunt  for  truffles,  but  who  want  them  of  such  and 
such  a  flavor,  exactly  to  our  taste.  Now  Julot  knows 
our  tastes,   our  various  fancies,  and  he  undertakes — " 

"Capital!  capital!" 


*  Epicure.     Gueule  is  a  vulgarism. 


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